It's Not Me, It's You
by dancer4ver
Summary: Francis Bonnefoy is a famous writer who only requires a pretty face to be his muse, clean his house and listen to his problems. But when his last 'boy toy' walks out on him, he's left desperately in need of a replacement. Enter Gilbert Beilschmidt.
1. Losing Arthur

Title: It's Not Me, It's You

Genre: Drama/Humor/Romance

Rating: M

Summary: Francis Bonnefoy is a famous writer who only requires a pretty face to be his muse, clean his house and listen to his problems. But when his last 'boy toy' walks out on him without warning, he's left desperately in need of a replacement. Enter Gilbert Beilschmidt, both a blessing and a curse.

Pairings/Characters: France/England, France/Prussia, America/England, Austria/Hungary, Spain/Romano, Seychelles, Canada, Belgium, Netherlands

**A/N:** This is yet again another plot bunny that swooped in and would not let me rest until I started writing. And it chose the worst time ever to do so! But I've been really wanting to write something featuring Prussia and France as main characters so I guess it's not all bad. Enjoy~

**Extra Notes: **Angelique = Seychelles, Belle = Belgium

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia and Gauloises cigarettes belong to Imperial Tobacco**

* * *

_It's Not Me, It's You:_

_Losing Arthur  
_

Francis blinked. It was the only thing he could do. He really wanted a glass of wine but the receptors in his brain had shut down and thus his arms hung lifelessly at his sides. Across from him stood Arthur Kirkland, who, up until five seconds ago, had been his employee and part-time lover. Arthur tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for Francis to speak.

"This has to be the first time I've ever seen you so speechless, Francis," Arthur said. "No smooth retort or witty comment? Has that so called talented brain of yours finally crashed from all that disgusting wine you drink?"

"My wine is not disgusting," Francis snapped. It was the first reply that he could think of. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Yeah and I'm not two seconds away from walking out that door."

"You're not."

"Didn't you just hear me? I'm done. Finished. I quit."

"You can't quit! You have a contract!"

Arthur reached into his pocket and pulled out a rumpled piece of paper. "You mean this?" Francis watched in horror as he ripped it up.

"You'll have to pay the early termination fee!"

Arthur threw the pieces of paper on the floor. "Take it out of my last paycheck," he spat.

Francis tore his eyes away from the remains of the contract to focus back on Arthur, who was now tightly gripping his suitcase. "But…but why are you leaving?" he asked.

"Because I'm tired of being your unappreciated workbitch."

"I appreciate you! I even ate one of your scones the other day!"

"That's not what I bloody mean!" Arthur yelled.

"Then tell me what you want!"

"What I want? I want you to stop insulting my culture, my cooking, actually listen to me for once, stop sleeping around, stop smoking, give me at least a weeks vacation and when I ask you to take me somewhere nice, I don't mean to Antonio's for lunch!"

"What's wrong with Antonio's? His food is actually good!"

Arthur threw his hands in the air. "Fuck this," he said before heading for the door, suitcase in tow. With the feeling back in his arms and legs, Francis leapt up from the couch and went after him.

"Ok, ok. You want to go to a nice place? Sure, why not? And I'll stop with the bad food jokes. Happy?"

Arthur whirled around so fast that Francis nearly crashed into him.

"No Francis, I'm not. I'm sick of your half-arsed promises. I'm sorry but this 'relationship' is extremely unhealthy and is not working. I can't be your plaything anymore."

Francis Bonnefoy didn't beg—unless one of few support people in his life was about to walk out the door. So for the second time in his life he got on his knees for something other than sex.

"But you're not. Arthur, _Arthur,_ you're so much more to me than that."

Arthur glared down at him. "When's my birthday?"

"Um…"

"What's my mum's name?"

"I know this one! It's, it's—damn it!"

"My favorite book?"

"Something by Shakespeare."

"My favorite animal?"

"Unicorns!"

Arthur shook his head. "You self-absorbed frog. I'm out of here." He turned to go.

"No! Arthur! Your favorite book is _Harry Potter_! Don't go!" Francis wrapped his arms around Arthur's legs.

"Let me go, you wanker!" Arthur said through clenched teeth as he dragged both Francis and his suitcase across the floor.

"How can you leave me like this?" Francis wailed. "The nominations are in May. What am I supposed to do without my muse? How will I write?"

"Find a new muse! There are plenty of people in this town that are more than willing to bend over for you." They had reached the door and Arthur finally succeeded in shaking Francis off. He gave him a look that could almost be described at pitying as he unlocked the door. "I wish you could see how pathetic you look right now. Get serious Francis. Before you lose everything." He slammed the door behind him, leaving Francis to stare in shock at nothing except the finely crafted woodwork.

"F-fine!" he yelled at the door. "Who needs you? And your scones tasted like shit!" He scrambled to his feet to and ran to his phone, dialing the only person who he knew wouldn't hang up on him.

"Hey Francis, " came the cheerful voice. "How's the book?"

"Antonio, I need you to come over here now."

"Did something happen?"

"Arthur left me."

"What? When?"

"Thirty seconds ago. The little bitch even ripped up his contract. Please tell me that you can make it over here tonight."

"I can be there in ten minutes. I'm so sorry Francis."

"Don't be. I don't need sympathy, I need alcohol. Bring cigarettes too."

"No problem. See you soon." Antonio hung up and Francis dropped the phone back onto the receiver. He stumbled to the living room and sank into his favorite chair. His head was spinning and he didn't know whether to be sad or angry; heartbroken or vengeful. He glanced around his apartment. His notes and manuscripts were scattered all over the place. His editor was going to kick his ass if he didn't have the next chapter done by the weekend and he had only written three pages so far. How the hell was he supposed to finish without Arthur? He looked up in surprise when he heard a knock on the door. It was too soon for it to be Antonio.

"It's open," he said. A pretty blond girl poked her head into the apartment.

"Francis? Are you ok? I heard yelling." It was his neighbor, a Belgian student who was studying abroad and living with her brother.

"Oh Belle, my sweet Belle, I've just been cruelly abandoned. Arthur's gone."

Belle left the door ajar as she went to Francis's side. She sat on the arm of the chair and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Poor Francis! What happened?"

"I don't know. We were getting on so well. He said I didn't listen to him. Can you believe that? And then he got all pissy because I didn't know his mum's name. How am I supposed to know that?"

"Joanne."

"Excuse me?"

"Her name's Joanne. He calls her at least once a week. You've even spoken to her."

"I don't remember this and who even cares? I am—was—his employer. His concern was my life. Not the other way around. It was even in his contract!"

Belle sighed. "Francis, you can't keep treating people like this."

"Like what?"

"Like they're nothing except your employees!"

"Belle, love, that makes no sense. They are my employees."

"No, they're people with their own lives, goals and families. But you never take the time to even try and get to know them."

"Are you here to comfort or scold me?" Belle laughed and playfully squeezed his shoulder.

"A little bit of both," she said.

"Francis?" They both looked up to see Antonio Carriedo, Francis's oldest friend, come into the apartment.

"I brought the wine. Oh, hi Belle," he said.

"Hi Antonio. I'm glad you're here. This one needs some cheering up."

"Did you bring the cigarettes, Antonio?" Francis asked.

"Yeah. What happened to your Gauloises's?"

"Arthur threw them out yesterday. I should have known that he was going to leave!"

Belle stood up. "I'll leave you two to talk. I'll be over later Francis. Bye Antonio."

"Bye Belle," Antonio said. After the door had closed he turned to Francis, who flinched under his gaze.

"Don't look at me like that. I'm innocent in this. I did nothing wrong."

Antonio sighed. "That's what you always say. Start from the beginning."

"Wine first."

Antonio pulled a bottle from the bag at his side. Francis made a face.

"White wine?"

"It's all I had."

"It will have to do. Pour me a glass and I'll tell you how that ungrateful brat ruined my life."

* * *

"And then he slammed the door without so much as a goodbye. How could he do that to me Antonio? Me? After everything I've done for him!" Francis refilled his glass. Antonio sat across from him, his own glass untouched.

"I don't understand. I though Arthur was 'the one'. He's been with you the longest of all your 'boy toys'."

"Don't call them that Antonio. That's such a media label. And it offends me," Francis said.

"Sorry. But how long were you two together? Two, three years?"

Francis sighed dramatically. "It would have been three years in July…or maybe August. Anyway, it's irrelevant now. Antonio, what am I going to do? I need a muse. I can't write without one. And Angelique is going to rip my hair out if I'm not done with the next chapter by Saturday."

"Have you ever tried to write without one?" Antonio asked. "Maybe now is a good time to start."

Francis looked at him like he had just said that Coco Chanel was a man. "Absolutely not. Everyone needs a muse and even though he was snarky, uncultured, a horrible cook and much too conservative in bed, Arthur was the best I've ever had. My career is over." He drained his glass. "I still don't understand why he left. Just because I didn't know his favorite book!"

"_The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_."

Francis glared at him. "Don't you start. You're supposed to be making me feel better. So what's my next plan of action? I need to hire someone new by the end of the week. Who's available?"

Antonio look uncomfortable. "Um, the thing is, there is _no one_ left. At least no one I can call."

Francis gasped. "Are you telling me that Arthur was my last option?"

"Pretty much. He was your sixth boy—I mean, muse."

"Impossible. How about Vash?"

"He still has a restraining order against you." Francis opened his mouth. "It covers his sister too." Francis groaned.

"Feliciano?" Antonio shook his head.

"Lovino would kill you. And apparently he's in a relationship."

"Lovino?"

"Francis."

"I won't touch."

"You _always_ touch. Try again."

Francis rubbed his head. "Um, um—shit!" His list of contacts was extremely short once he eliminated everyone who hated him.

"What about Belle?" Antonio asked. Francis shook his head.

"She's a sweet girl but her brother scares me."

"Really? He seems like such a nice guy."

"He almost broke your fingers."

"No, he just didn't know my hand was there."

Francis would never understand how his friend was so thickheaded.

"Ok. Anyway, she's out of the question," he said.

Antonio leaned back in his chair. "Well I'm out of suggestions. I really don't know what to tell you."

Francis slammed his glass on the table. "I will find someone! I will! The book nominations are in less than two months and I cannot face Roderich like this!"

"But you're sure to get nominated Francis. Your last book was a hit. And you always get nominated."

"And this was the year I was supposed to win!"

"You can still win. You don't need a muse to win."

"Antonio, my employees aren't just my inspirations. They're my sole literary support. My everything when I'm writing. I need them. And I'm going to go insane and burn my manuscripts if I can't fill Arthur's spot in 24 hours."

Antonio wasn't as slow as most people liked to believe. The only person who ever got a glimpse of the sharp mind behind the goofy smile was Lovino, and that was rarely. But at that moment, Antonio wished that Francis could hear himself. Or that he would at least listen whenever Antonio tried to point out that maybe if he didn't see people as disposable spots to be filled, they wouldn't walk out on him as often.

Antonio put down his wine glass. "Ok, I'll see what I can do. I still have one or two people I can call."

Francis hiccuped. He was on his fifth glass. "You're a dear. Have I ever told you that I love you? You would be the best muse ever. Why can't you work for me?"

"We tried that at the beginning, remember? It was…bad." To say the least.

"Phaw. We were fine. Second time's the charm."

Antonio stood up. "Well I'm going to head home now. Lovino's coming over soon."

Francis sighed. "You're so lucky to have someone who loves you like that."

_You had someone like that too_, Antonio thought to himself. He didn't want to start another fight so he didn't say it out loud. "I'll call you be tomorrow evening. Don't drink too much."

Francis lit one of the cigarettes and took a deep drag. "I'll be fine. Just don't let me down."

* * *

Francis was still curled up on his couch the next evening when Antonio called. He had barely moved all day except to grab another box of the cigarettes that Antonio had left on the kitchen counter. Belle had stopped by the previous night with more wine—thankfully red this time—and comforting words. She had smartly taken her leave when Francis started getting grabby.

He was lying face down on his couch when the phone rang. It took his alcohol-addled mind a few seconds to register the sound before he answered it on the fourth ring.

"Hello?" he mumbled into the receiver.

"I've got great news! I found someone willing to work for you!" Antonio said happily. "Feliciano's boyfriend's brother just lost his job and apartment and needs some quick cash."

"Antonio, have you even met this guy? I don't want some punk off the streets. If he needs money, point him in the direction of a street corner."

"Feliciano said he's a good guy."

"No offense, but Feliciano is even more gullible than you."

"No need to be rude. Anyway, think of him as a temporary replacement until I can find you someone else. It's the best I can do with such short notice."

Francis groaned and sat up. He had a pounding headache that was getting worse by the second. There was about half a glass worth of wine left in the bottle Belle had brought and he tipped it into his mouth.

"Just give him a chance," Antonio said.

"What's his name?" Francis asked.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt."

Francis winced. "He's German? God, you're going to kill me Antonio. A Brit and now a German. Oh well, at least he's not Austrian."

"Should I send him over then?"

"Sure, why not? He's just a temp. I expect you to keep helping me looking for someone else in the meantime."

"Yes, of course," Antonio hung up to make the arrangements and called back fifteen minutes later to say that Beilschmidt would be there by 7 p.m.

It was 10:30 p.m. when Francis heard the knock on his door. Even though he wasn't expecting much, he had cleaned up. He'd washed his hair and curled it so that in hung in soft, loose curls around his face. He was wearing the last clothes that Arthur had dry cleaned for him, _not_ because Arthur had done it, but because they were his last clean clothes. His first job for this guy would be a very long trip to the drycleaners.

When the knock came at the door, Francis had been about to open another bottle of wine. He worked the scowl off his face and smoothed down the invisible wrinkles on his black jacket. With a deep breath, he opened the door.

"_Bonjour_, you must be…Gilbert." The man who stood on his doorstep grinned and held out a hand.

"That's the awesome me!" he said, loudly. "Francis, right? I imagined you taller."

It was only because Antonio was his best friend that Francis didn't slam the door shut. Gilbert had the most unnatural hair and eye color that he had ever seen and those were just the first things he noticed. He looked like he's just come back from a fight. His jacket was ripped and there was a visible bruise underneath one of his eyes. What looked like a grubby knapsack was slung over his shoulder. Francis suppressed a shudder and took his outstretched hand.

"Yes, it's a…pleasure to meet you. Uh, please come in."

"Fuck, this is a nice place," Gilbert said as he stepped into the apartment. "How much does it cost a month?"

Francis closed the front door and checked his floor for muddy footprints. "$15,000. $20,000 when you factor in insurance."

Gilbert whistled. "Fuck. That's awesome. I'll be honest, I've never read your books—I actually don't read much—but I had no clue that writing about sex could rake in so much cash."

"Well sex sells in our society." Francis held up the bottle he had been about to open before Gilbert had arrived. "Would you like some wine?"

Gilbert shook his head. "Not really my thing. Got any beer?"

That was another strike. He had already gone past three but Francis couldn't afford to throw him out. "Not at the moment," he said. "My neighbors might though."

"Eh, it's no big deal. I had a few cans before I came here."

Francis's grip on the bottle tightened. "Is that so? Lovely…" _Stay calm. Stay calm._

"So where's my room? I'm wiped out."

"You shall sleep in there," Francis said, pointing to a door down the side hall. "But before you turn in, I need to go over what you'll actually be doing for me."

"Sounds awesome Francis, but I'm seriously about to keel over. First thing tomorrow, 'kay?" Gilbert grabbed the last of the cigarettes that Antonio had brought and headed for the bedroom. "Night," he said before slamming the door shut. Francis stared at the door for ten more seconds before picking up the bottle of wine and heading for his room.

Some things were better left for the morning.

* * *

**A/N:** First chapters are always very important. It's seriously the make or break for a story. So shall I continue? Y/Y? XD

Also, I would love to know if anyone got the nerdy and clever reason I made England's mom name "Joanne" ;)

-with love

dancer


	2. First Day

**A/N:** I just want to give a big thank you to all the readers of this story. I wasn't expecting many people to be interested so I was really surprised, but happy, with all the feedback I got. Thanks! This chapter is my little gift to you. I probably won't have much time to write until school gets out so there a chance I won't be able to get the next chapter up until May. Sorry! I'll try my best to get something done before then, but no promises. Enjoy~

**Extra Notes: **Netherlands = Alec

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or Petrus. **

* * *

_It's Not Me, It's You:_

_First Day_

In the morning, Francis woke up from an erotic dream expecting to find a warm body pressed up against his, but instead found that the only thing in his bed was an empty wine bottle that was pressed uncomfortably against his cheek.

He sat up with a groan and ran a hand through his rumpled hair. Not only had he forgotten to use a hair net, but he had also fallen asleep in the clothes from the night before, which officially left him without any acceptable clothing. He had a sweatshirt that he had bought at a charity baseball game on a bet and a pair of sweatpants that he had forgotten to whom they belonged. God forbid that he had any meetings scheduled for that day. It would be humiliating enough to wear 'comfort' clothing around the house.

Deciding that he would first properly dispose of the wine bottle in the appropriate bin—recycling had been Arthur's idea and Francis had gone along when society had deemed green living 'in'—before changing. He opened the door to his bedroom and shuffled down the hall to the kitchen, bottle dangling from his hands.

"Mornin'."

Francis screamed and dropped the wine bottle on the floor. How could he have forgotten that he had company? His temporary muse was sitting at his kitchen table, clad only in a pair of boxers and shoveling down the last of Francis's cereal.

"Has anyone ever told you that you scream like a girl?" Gilbert said.

"Cover your eyes!" Francis shrieked.

"Why?"

"Because I'm not decent! Cover them now!"

"But you're wearing—"

"Cover them!"

Gilbert sighed. "Fine." He covered his eyes with his hands. "Is this some weird kink of yours?"

Francis bent down to pick up the wine bottle, thankful it hadn't smashed. "And don't even think about peeking!" he said. He dropped the wine bottle into the labeled bin and walked quickly back to his room.

"Can I open them now?" Gilbert asked.

"You may not!" Francis yelled back. He tore off his clothes and wincing, pulled on the sweatshirt and sweatpants. In the current state it was in, it would take hours to fix his hair so he tied it back in a low ponytail and the pulled the hood of the sweatshirt over his head. He shuddered as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror of his walk-in closet.

"I look like a forty year-old soccer mom with five kids and a van," he wailed.

"What was that?"

"Keep your eyes shut!"

Francis went over to his desk and grabbed the folder he had hastily prepared the night before and his wallet. He couldn't even bear a last pitying glance at the mirror before he stomped back to the kitchen. Gilbert still had his eyes covered and he grumbled loudly as he heard Francis approach.

"We just met," he said, "so I'll let you off easy this time, but don't expect me to play stupid games like this every morn—"

"You can open your eyes," Francis snapped.

Gilbert leaned back blinking when he uncovered his eyes. "Whoa, you change clothes fast."

"You're going to pretend that you never saw that."

"Saw what?" Gilbert asked, confused.

"Nothing. Now tell me why you're eating my cereal. No, tell me why this place is a mess."

"Um…"

"I have three bags of clothes that need to be cleaned sitting in my room. Why are they still there?"

"Well—" Gilbert began but Francis cut him off with a shushing gesture.

"No, don't speak. I don't want to hear it. I cannot deal with this right now. Before another word comes out of your mouth you need to sign this." Francis set the folder down on the table and flicked it open with his index finger. Inside was a single sheet of paper. "This is your contract," he said. "Whether you're going to be working for me a week or a year, you must sign it. And just so you know, an early termination of this contract has a $10,000 fee." He wouldn't make the same mistake he had with Arthur.

Gilbert picked up the paper and scanned it quickly. "Not bad. I was expecting 20 pages of filler text. As if reading wasn't bad enough."

Francis smirked. "That's because I only have two simple requirements. The first is that you never speak to anyone about what happens beneath this roof unless I give you permission, sober. The second is that you do anything I ask."

Gilbert raised an eyebrow. "Anything?"

"Well, anything legal. For instance, I can't force you to have sex with me, buy me drugs, or jump in moving traffic. Things like that."

"What can you make me do?"

"I can make you clean my house, do my laundry and make me a decent breakfast. And you must always be present when I'm writing. I don't care if I'm in Paris and you're in New York. As soon as I pick up a pen, you're to be in front of me."

Gilbert turned back to the contract. "This actually sounds like a lot of work. This isn't what I signed up for."

Francis nodded towards the door. "Exit's that way," he said, almost happily. He didn't believe Antonio. There had to be someone better that he could use.

"What's my starting pay?"

"Getting right to the point, are we? Fine. If you're a good boy and sign on the dotted line, I can start you at $1,500 a month."

"How much did you pay your last guy?"

"That's really none of your business," Francis said sharply.

Gilbert dropped the contract onto the folder. "Actually, I think it is. 'Cause I'm worth a whole lot more than $1,500."

Francis felt a spike of anger. "How dare—Do you know who you're talking to? I can ruin your life."

"And I could ruin yours. From what Antonio told me, you're pretty desperate at the moment and if I walk out that door right now, you're left with nothing. So how about we make a deal?"

"I refuse to make a deal with a low-life punk with no manners or class!" Francis snapped. How dare Antonio betray him like that?

Gilbert grinned. "Ouch, that hurt. So I'm thinking $3,000."

Francis snorted. "Dream on."

"Okay." Gilbert got up from the table. "I'll just go grab my bags then. Your cereal sucks by the way. It's like 100% bran. Are you a constipated eighty year-old man?" He headed for his room.

"You get back here right now!" Francis yelled.

"Yeah…not really feeling it," Gilbert said over his shoulder. "There are too many opportunities in this town for someone as awesome as me to settle for so little to be someone's 'boy toy'."

"Don't say those words!"

Gilbert came back from his room, still in his boxers, with his bag slung over his shoulder. "You think they can call me a taxi downstairs?" he asked.

"Dressed like that? Hell no. Now get your butt back in this chair. You aren't going anywhere."

"How are you going to stop me?"

Francis resisted the urge to break something. "Damn you're annoying. Okay, fine. $2,500."

"I said $3,000."

"$2,500 and I won't make you do the dishes on weekends. Take it or leave it. You seriously think you can walk in anywhere else and get this much? Don't be stupid." Gilbert looked thoughtful. "I'm a very busy man Beilschmidt."

"Deal."

Francis held up a pen. "Come sign," he said. Gilbert dropped his bag and padded over. He grabbed the pen and scrawled a messy signature at the bottom of the contract.

Francis closed the folder. 'Excellent. Now, put some clothes on, take my things to the drycleaners and buy me some new cereal."

"Now?"

Francis rolled his eyes. "Yes, now. And don't come back until everything's done." He pulled his credit card out of his wallet. "Put everything on this. And get me another box of cigarettes too." He handed him a business card. "This is the drycleaners I use. The address is at the bottom. Now go."

"How will I get everywhere?"

"Ask for a driver downstairs."

"Aye, aye Captain." Gilbert gave him a mock salute and after grabbing his bag, disappeared back into his room. Francis sighed and massaged his temples. He tried to recall the words of his guru but gave up after he could only remember something about 'acceptance'.

"Next time I see Antonio he's going to 'accept' my foot up his ass for sending this guy to me," Francis grumbled as he went to his room to get his clothes. Gilbert was waiting in the kitchen when he came back, wearing the same shirt and jacket from the night before.

"Damn, is this your whole closet?" he asked when he saw the bags.

"No," Francis said as he handed them to him, "less than half but everything else is from last season. While you're out, make sure to buy some clothes for yourself. You can't work for me wearing rags like that."

"But my clothes are awesome!"

"They're disgusting."

"Says the guy wearing sweats."

"Shut up! They're the only thing I have!" Francis grabbed a pair of keys off counter. They were still labeled 'Arthur'. He viciously scratched the name out. "Now take your house keys and get out!"

"Someone's a little grumpy this morning," Gilbert said.

"Go!"

"Gone," Gilbert said, slamming the door behind him.

Francis grabbed the kitchen table for support as his whole body threatened to fall apart. "I can't believe I've sunk so low," he said quietly. "Why am I being punished like this? I'm a good person. I volunteered at that telethon last year." He straightened back up. "This is all Antonio's fault." He marched over to his phone and furiously dialed the number to the restaurant.

"What do you want?" said the bored voice that answered.

"Lovino? Where's Antonio?"

"The bastards gone out."

"Where?"

"To look at some dumb building. He wants to open up another restaurant."

"Another one? And he didn't tell me?"

"Apparently he saw a sign or it came to him in a dream. Stupid shit like that. Anyway, don't bother calling him. He left his phone here, as usual."

Francis swore. "Isn't it your job as his loving boyfriend to remind him of those sorts of things?"

"This is Antonio we're talking about. Even Jesus wouldn't have been able to cure him. Call back later."

"Wait! Lovino, darling, you wouldn't happen to have some free time in your schedule, would you?"

"Nice try, pervert. You're not getting me to be your boy toy."

"Why does everyone call them that?" Francis yelled.

"Because that's what they are. Damn it. The people Antonio hires are such idiots. They can't even work a fucking pop machine. Now I have to get someone to clean this mess. This day sucks." Without another word Lovino hung up. Francis sighed and replaced his phone.

"What I am supposed to do now?" He wished Arthur was there so that he could have someone to complain to, but then he realized that if Arthur was there, he wouldn't be having this problem.

"Why are the people in my life so unreliable?" he wailed. "There has to be someone who is available who will listen to my problems!" He suddenly remembered that Belle had mentioned that she would be off from class that day. Although she did have a bad habit of trying to correct him, she was the best option he had at the moment. He picked up his phone and dialed her number and hoped her brother didn't pick up.

"Hello?" Francis winced. His day just got worse and worse.

"H-hi Alec! I-is Belle there by chance?"

"No. Leave my sister alone."

"Okay then, bye!" Francis quickly hung up. "Why is he so damn scary?" He was almost worse than the Swedish man who worked at the front desk in the lobby. "I give up." It barely past noon but it looked like the only comfort that he would be getting that day would be a glass of wine on his couch. He grimaced when he opened his wine cabinet and saw that he only had two bottles of Pétrus left. He would have Gilbert order another shipment first thing tomorrow. He couldn't believe that Arthur had left him without restocking his wine. That was one more thing he would never forgive him for. He took one of the bottles, grabbed a glass and headed for his couch. He fell asleep after the fourth glass and didn't wake up until Gilbert burst back into the apartment five hours later.

"Mission accomplished!" he yelled as he slammed the door. Francis screamed and fell off the couch. "And in record time too! I deserve a bonus!" He noticed Francis on the floor. "Why are you on the ground?"

"Shut up!" Francis pulled himself back onto the couch. "Don't come in here screaming!"

"Calm down. Why are you yelling?"

"Because—!" Francis sighed heavily. "Forget it. So you got everything?"

"Of course I got everything. I'm awesome like that." He pointed to himself. "Like the new threads?" The ripped jacket and stained pants had been replaced with a black vest and dark wash jeans. Still too casual in Francis's opinion, but at least it all looked quality now.

"It will have to do. How much did they cost?"

"I got a bunch of other shit too. I think it all came to around $8,000. I put it all on your card," Gilbert said. Francis wondered what the signs of a heart attack were because he was sure that he was about to have one.

"I got your cigarettes too. Not sure what type you wanted but I found this really cool hippie brand. The package said it was like organic tobacco or something. I'm not super into the whole 'going green' trend but they're actually pretty awesome. I opened a box on the way back. Here." Gilbert tossed the box to Francis, who barely caught it. The front was decorated with psychedelic designs and colors so bright that it made his eyes hurt. In the corner it said in bold letters "Made with 20% hemp".

"And then I decided that no one deserves to suffer from that gross cereal so I got some of the off brand stuff. It actually tastes better than the brand names. Why would anyone want to eat bran when you can have Frosty O's and Fruit Flakes?" Gilbert held up the boxes. "Awesome right?" Francis could only stare. Then he noticed that Gilbert had only brought in two bags.

"Where…where are my clothes?"

"They're at the Laundromat drying. I have to go get them in an hour."

"Drying?"Francis squeaked. "Why are they drying?"

"Um, because I washed them. Duh."

"They were dry clean only! That's why I sent you to the drycleaners!"

"It was out of the way. And this place was so much better. I even got a coupon for this hair salon. I don't really use coupons but what the hell! Hey, where are you going?"

"To my room. I'm going to get my sunglasses and my shoes."

"You're going out?"

"Yes and you're coming with me. I can't afford to leave you here by yourself."

"But I just got back!" Gilbert whined. Francis almost exploded right there. He was working very hard to stay calm but he was so angry that his hands were shaking.

"Just do it," he hissed. "Call downstairs for a car."

"That guy scares me."

"I. Don't. Give. A. Flying. Fuck. Call. Now."

"Okay, okay. Damn, you're moody."

* * *

_I'm going to kill him…I'm going to kill him…I'm going to kill him. _Francis repeated to himself the whole car ride. Besides him, Gilbert was chattering something nonsensical about a bird he saw and smoking one of the disgusting cigarettes. Francis desperately wanted to open a window but couldn't risk the chance of being seen. It had been horrible enough leaving the apartment building. He had had to cover his head with a blanket and have Gilbert guide him to the car.

_I'm going to kill him…I'm going to kill him…I'm going to kill him. _

"Which entrance?" asked the driver when they arrived.

"Back," Francis hissed. "Stay here. This shouldn't take more than a few minutes." He made Gilbert check that there was no one around before he finally got out of the car.

"Hey, I know this place," Gilbert said as they walked towards the back door. "I've never been through this entrance though. Why are we—"

"Just. Stop. Talking." Francis wrenched open the back door, revealing a brightly lit hallway that split into two directions at the end. Francis went left, which led to a door that said "Boss's Room" on the front. He slammed the door open, causing Antonio to drop all the papers in his hand and nearly made Lovino fall off the desk.

"F-Francis? What are you doing here?" Antonio asked.

"You asshole," Lovino yelled. "I could have hurt myself! Don't just come bursting in here! Where the hell are you taking him?" Francis had pulled Antonio out of his seat and was dragging him towards the door by his collar.

"To talk. You two stay here." Francis said shortly before closing the door.

"Hey Francis, what's this about? Is something wro—oompf!" Antonio's back hit the wall of the broom closet at the same time he heard the door being locked. Before he could protest, Francis had his hands around his throat.

"Give me a reason why I shouldn't kill you right now." Francis hissed. After keeping it together for so long, he was on the verge of losing complete control.

"I don't understand what's—"Antonio gasped as he felt the hands tighten around his neck. "Okay! Okay! We've been best friends since we were eight."

"Not good enough."

"I helped you fix the votes during Prom!"

"I was going to win anyway."

"Uh, uh, how about that time I paid off our History Professor's husband when he caught you with his wife?"

"They were going to get divorced in a month. One more try, Antonio."

Antonio shivered at the dangerous gleam in Francis's eye. He had never seen his friend like this.

"Okay. I was the one who lent you the money so that you could publish your first book!" he said quickly. He winced when he felt the hands around his neck tighten slightly but then they fell away and he let out a deep sigh of relief.

"I always forget about that," Francis said darkly. "Damn."

"What the hell was that?" Antonio gasped. "Coming out of nowhere and attacking me? What did I do?"

"What did you do?" Francis took a step closer and Antonio flattened himself against the wall. "You ruined my life!"

"How?"

"You sent me…him."

"Who?"

"Don't make me say his name. You know who."

"I'm really not following, Francis."

"Beilschmidt! You sent him to me to ruin my life! You're punishing me!"

Antonio gaped at his friend. "A-are you kidding me? Why would I want to punish you? And what did Gilbert do?"

"You're trying to send me one of those morality messages! Well next time use a fortune cookie! I do not deserve this!"

"Francis, calm down. What did Gilbert do?"

"Well first, he ate my cereal and then had the nerve to call it disgusting!"

"It is nearly 100% bran…"

"And then he forced me into raising his salary!"

"Yeah, he can be tricky like that."

"He spent $8,000 of _my_ money on clothes for himself!"

"You spend that much on a bottle of wine."

"He bought the most disgusting cigarettes I've ever seen, replaced my cereal with some sugary, carb-laden abomination, and then…he washed my clothes!"

"Washing clothes is a bad thing?"

"It is when they're dry clean only! And I don't even know where they are now. He said he took them to some Laundromat that gives out coupons. Coupons! What sort of back alley place is that?"

"And that's all?"

"Antonio, do not use that tone with me. That man is a whirlwind of disaster and I refuse to have him as my employee any longer!"

"Did he already sign the contract?" Antonio asked.

"Yes, but I haven't given it to my lawyer yet. I can still rip it up, which is the first thing I'm going to do when I get home. He washed my clothes!"

"Francis, please don't cry. I don't think there are any tissues in here. I need you to take a deep breath and relax. We're going to work through this. Are you calm?"

"For about five more minutes."

"Good enough. Okay, listen to me. You're not going to get rid of Gilbert."

"Did anything I just said make it into that thick skull of yours?"

"Yes, but listen. You're not going to fire Gilbert because you can't. You need him. You can't write without a muse and he's the only option you have at this time."

"Is there seriously no one else available? There has to be someone!"

Antonio shook his head. "No one. I do have a friend who might be interested but he's busy with a project—he's an artist—and won't be free for at least two more months. So until then, you have to stick with Gilbert."

"But I can't!"

"Yes you can! I believe in you. What you need to do first is talk to him."

Francis raised an eyebrow. "Talk to him? I don't think we're even on the same intellectual level to even have a proper conversation."

"What do you mean? Gilbert's smart. He's just a little loud."

"Just a little?"

"Come on Francis, it was his first day working for you. You should expect that he would make some mistakes."

"He washed my clothes!"

"Then you tell him what he did wrong so next time he doesn't make the same mistake. You can't give someone you just met a to-do list and expect them to do everything perfectly. Until you reach the point in your relationship where it's not necessary to discuss the details of every little request, you're going to have to explain to him exactly what you want."

Francis blinked. "That actually sounded logical, Antonio. Maybe I should threaten you more often to wake up some of those brain cells."

Antonio laughed weakly. "Yeah, maybe. So are you going to give him a second chance?"

"You've made it clear that I have no other choice." Francis sighed. "And he is good looking so it's not a _complete_ disaster."

"You're not going to—"

"No. Hell no. I have standards Antonio."

"You do?"

Francis gave him a withering look. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

Antonio smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. Hey, I just noticed something."

"What?"

"You're wearing sweats."

"They're the only clothes I had in my house!" Francis shrieked, unconsciously covering himself with his hands.

Antonio laughed. "I never thought I'd see you go casual. You look fine by the way."

"Stop lying to me!" Francis unlocked the door to the closet. "Come on, get up and let's go back before Lovino starts breaking things." Just as they stepped out of the closet, Lovino came around the corner, Gilbert right behind him.

"What the fuck? Why the hell were you two in the closet?" he screeched.

"Because they wanted to come out together!" Gilbert burst out laughing. "You know, because they're friends!" Francis groaned.

"Good one, Gilbert!" Antonio said, laughing. "Didn't you think it was funny, Lovino?"

"No and you didn't answer my question! What the fuck were you doing in the closet with this filthy pervert?"

"I am not a pervert!"

"We were just talking, Lovino."

"Oh really? Fine. You two can just 'talk' all you want. I'm going home!" Lovino spun around and stomped off in the other direction.

"Wait! What did I do wrong this time?" Antonio said as he ran after him. "Why is everyone mad at me today?"

"So what were you two actually doing there?" Gilbert asked when it was just him and Francis.

"We had sex."

Gilbert's jaw dropped. "Wait, really?"

"Of course not, you idiot. Antonio's pretty oblivious but he's not a total moron. Now close your mouth and let's go back to the car. We're done here."

"We can probably go pick up your clothes now," Gilbert said once they were outside.

"You mean the clothes that you ruin—" Francis remembered what Antonio had said and lowered his voice. "Now that you mention it, I need to talk to you about something." They stopped at the side of the car.

"What? Are you going to raise my salary?"

"No!" Francis snapped. It was getting darker outside so he pulled off his sunglasses. "It's about what I expect from you. Just because you're a temp doesn't mean you can go about everything whatever way you like. If you're going to work for me, you have to do things my way. First thing—" Suddenly, from out behind a nearby car, popped a short man who quickly snapped a picture of the pair. Francis screamed and covered his face.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Gilbert yelled.

"Finally getting the recognition I deserve!" The man said, laughing. "Every tabloid in town is going to want me on their team when they see this picture!" He took off running.

"Hey! Get back here!" Francis peeked out through the spaces between his fingers to see Gilbert chase after the man. In seconds he had caught up to him and tackled him from the back. There was a short scuffled before Gilbert pinned the man to the ground and wrenched the camera out of his hands.

"No one gets to take a picture of me unless I say so," Gilbert said. He smashed the camera on the pavement.

"You asshole!" The man yelled. "I have a lawyer! He'll make you pay for that!"

"Good luck trying to call him if I break both of your arms," Gilbert said before getting up. "Next time you better think twice before you sneak up on someone as awesome as me. Now get out of here." With one last dirty look, the man scrambled off.

"People like that are so annoying," Gilbert said when he got back to where Francis was still standing in shock. "Don't they understand that it's a luxury to get a picture of—"

"You saved my reputation!" Francis said, finally snapping out of it. "You saved my reputation!"

"You said that twice, you know?"

"And I'll say it again! You saved my reputation! I would hug you if it wasn't for the fact that you were rolling on the floor five minutes ago."

"There are other ways I can be compensated."

Francis rolled his eyes. "Nice try. I'm not raising your salary."

"Not even by $100?"

"Not even by $10. Now get in the car before that creep comes back."

"Nah, I think I scared him off for good. Did you see how fast he ran?" Gilbert said as he slid in the backseat.

"Well there could be others like him lurking around. Scum like that tend to travel in packs."

"Where to?" asked the driver as they pulled out of the parking lot.

"Where exactly is the place you took my clothes, Gilbert?" Francis asked. "Even though I might not be able to wear any of them in public anymore, I've been running a little low on good karma lately and they would make a great donation to charity."

"It's not far. I can give you directions. Take a right at the light."

"How did you find this place?" Francis asked as they drove. He noticed that the houses on the street were getting smaller and more run down with each block. They were in a part of the city that he sometimes liked to believe didn't exist because it was such a stark contrast from what he was used to.

"I came here once, like, years ago. I didn't remember much about it except that it was cheap."

"Not too cheap I hope," Francis said quietly to himself, his stomach clenching nervously as they passed another liquor store. That was the third one he'd seen.

"It's the first entrance on your right," Gilbert finally said ten minutes later. The car pulled in front of an ancient looking Laundromat. There was graffiti all over the building and various beer cans scattered across the parking lot. One of the windows had been taped over but Francis could still see that it was riddled with various small holes. By now his stomach was in complete knots and he clutched the door handle tightly. In front of him he could hear the nervous shifting of the driver and was somewhat relieved that he wasn't the only one that wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

Gilbert swung open his door and Francis hunched down in his seat.

"Are you coming in or not?" Gilbert asked.

"Y-You go, I'll just stay here." Francis said.

"Actually, you have to come inside. They wouldn't let me pay with your card and I told them that I would bring you back with me to sign."

"Why would you tell them that?" Francis hissed. "I can't go in there!"

"Don't worry. I don't think anyone will recognize you in this area," Gilbert said as he pulled open Francis's door.

"Getting recognized is the least of my problems. Can't you just bribe them or something?"

"I already tried. Next time give me a card that doesn't have a limit of 500 grand."

"That's the card with the lowest limit!"

"Don't you carry cash?"

"Money is dirty."

"God, you're such a princess. Let's go."

"Absolutely not!"

"Ok, now we have to do this the hard way," Gilbert leaned in and grabbed Francis around the waist.

"Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!" Francis yelled. He clung fiercely onto his seat but his manicured nails were no match for Gilbert and in seconds he found himself pulled outside the safety of the car.

"Wait here," Gilbert said to the driver before he dragged Francis inside in the Laundromat. There were only a small handful of people inside and they all stared at the pair when they entered. It didn't help that Francis was still kicking and screaming.

"Can you calm down? People are looking at us." Gilbert whispered to him.

"No and I refuse to until you take me back to the car!"

"Well if you chill out for five minutes then we can leave. Your stuff is right over there." Gilbert pointed to a dark corner of the Laundromat. "I'll get them, you pay."

"No, don't leave me," Francis said, now clinging to him. "I'm scared."

"There's nothing to be scared of." Gilbert pushed him off and nudged him in the direction of the cash register. "Now go pay." He headed towards the direction he had pointed earlier, leaving Francis, alone, to approach the register. The old woman behind it glared at him with each step he took towards her and when he finally reached the counter he angled his head so that he wasn't looking at her directly in the eye.

"H-hello," he said to the floor. "I'm…I'm…just here to…pay…for my c-clothes. M-my associate said I…had to sign."

"Which one is he?" the woman grunted. Without looking up, Francis pointed to the corner he thought Gilbert was in. It must have been the right one because he heard the woman punching something into the register.

"That's going to be $150," she said. Francis slid his card across the counter. The woman grunted again when she picked it up. "You don't have anything else?"

"S-sorry…no."

"Whatever." She slid the card through the machine and then handed Francis his receipt. "Can I see some ID?"

"I-is that really n-necessary?"

"Yes." Francis sighed and pulled out his license. "Can you look up for me?" Reluctantly, Francis raised his head. "And take off the sunglasses and the hood?"

"Really?"

"Yes." Feeling more irritated than scared now, Francis slipped off his sunglasses and pulled back the hood of the sweater.

"Happy?" he said. The woman glanced between him and his license three times before she was finally satisfied and handed him his cards back.

"You know, you look kind of familiar and I swear I've heard your name somewhere," she said.

"Nope! I'm no one! Just your average citizen!" Francis said quickly. "In fact, this is my first time leaving my house in five years. So if you don't mind I'm just going to go back now. Have a nice life." He darted away before the woman could say anything else. Gilbert was waiting by the front door with the three bags of clothes in his hands.

"Took you long enough," he said.

"Just shut up," Francis snapped, pushing his way past him. He froze at what he saw when he stepped outside.

"Hey…where's the car?" Gilbert asked. The parking lot was completely empty and both the car and driver were nowhere to be found.

"Oh my God! I've been abandoned!" Francis cried. "This is the second time this week!"

"What a douchebag. I can't believe he ditched us," Gilbert grumbled.

"What if…what if he got mugged?" Francis said quietly.

"Doubt it. People around here don't do those kinds of things. He definitely ditched us. Damn."

"What the hell are we supposed to do now?" Francis screamed.

"Um, call another car?"

Francis gasped, his hands flying to his mouth. "Fuck! I left my phone in the car!"

"No problem, I have mine. It's in my pocket. Hold these—hey!" Francis had reached into Gilbert's back pocket and pulled out the phone. "You could have warned me first."

"Oh wow, isn't this lovely," Francis said when he flipped open the phone. "Not only is your signal shit, but your battery is almost dead. What the fuck is this? Some B-grade horror movie?" He punched in the first number that popped into his head.

"Who are you calling? The apartment?"

"No, Antonio. Actually, Lovino because Antonio never has his phone on him."

"Why not the apartment?"

"The guy who works at the front desk scares me."

Gilbert shuddered. "Yeah, he's pretty terrifying."

Francis crossed his fingers as the phone rang. "Please pick up, please pick up, please pick—Lovino!"

"You have a lot of balls calling me pervert. I only picked up to tell you to keep your dirty hands off Antonio or else I'll break them next time. Bye."

"No! Don't hang up! I need help!"

"Why should I help you?"

"Because…because, I'm the one who set you up with Antonio!"

"Yeah, because I needed him so much. My life is a hundred times more stupid now. Thanks for nothing."

"You're so cold Lovino! I'm in serious trouble right now. My life is on the line!"

"You break a nail?"

"No! I'm stuck in only God knows where and I need you to have someone come get me."

"And me!" Gilbert said.

"Why?" Lovino asked.

"What do you mean why? I'm probably two seconds away from being shot!"

"It would serve you right."

"Why you little—"

"Do you want me to help you out or not, pervert?"

"Pleaseeeeeeee!"

"Damn this is annoying. Be happy that I had pasta tonight. Now where are you?"

"Hold on," Francis covered the mouth of the phone. "Where are we?" he asked Gilbert, who had to think for a few seconds before he remembered. He repeated the address to Lovino.

"What the fuck are you doing all the way out there? Are you trying to get yourself killed? You idiot! Do you know how upset Antonio would be if you died?"

"Stop yelling at me! I'm not here by choice! Just send someone to come get me!"

"And me!" Gilbert yelled.

"Shut up!"

"I'll send someone now. They should be there in about twenty minutes."

Francis felt pure relief for the first time all day. "Lovino have I ever told you how much I love you?"

"You're a sick bastard." Lovino hung up the phone and Francis felt Gilbert's phone vibrate as the battery finally died.

"That was lucky," he said, handing the dead phone back to its owner.

"How long do we have to wait?" Gilbert asked.

"He said twenty minutes."

"Might as well get comfortable then." Gilbert sat down in front of the Laundromat and dumped the bags of clothes next to him.

"I'm not sitting on the ground."

"Suit yourself." Gilbert pulled the box of hippie cigarettes out of his pockets and lit one. He offered the box to Francis who shook his head.

"This has probably been a really shitty day for you," Gilbert said.

"You think?" Francis snapped. "I just want my bed."

"Maybe this will make you feel better. I meant to give it to you earlier." Gilbert handed Francis a rumpled piece of paper. "It's the coupon they gave me here."

"How the hell is a coupon going to make me feel better?"

"Just take it."

"Fine." Francis snatched it out of his hands. "It's for…a hair salon. My hair salon. Buy one, get one free. How did you know that I go here?"

"I saw their number on the calendar on your fridge this morning. Do you really go there three times a week?"

Francis pointed to his head. "You think beauty like this comes cheap?"

"Hair's just hair to me. Mine's always awesome anyway so I don't really need it. Enjoy."

Francis looked down again at the coupon. He would probably never use it but he still put it in his pocket anyway.

"Tha-Thanks," he said quietly. He didn't often say that. "For this and for earlier."

Gilbert grinned. "So that's two things I did right today. You owe me big, Francis."

"Shut up and give me one of those disgusting cigarettes."

"They're not half bad," Gilbert said, handing him the box. "Oh and what were you saying before that paparazzo surprised us?"

Francis lit the cigarette and nearly gagged. It was terrible but still better than nothing. "Hmm? Oh yeah. I'll tell you later."

Gilbert moved over and patted the spot next to him. "Sit down."

"No."

"You know you want to."

"No. Stop talking."

"Why are you such a bitch?"

"Why are you such a moron?"

"I'm not a moron."

Francis grinned. "You kind of are." He sat down on the clothing bags. "But don't worry. It kind of suits you."

"I take back what I said. You're a super bitch."

Francis exhaled a cloud of smoke and laughed. "Love, I've been called much worse. Anyway, before I forget, I'm writing tomorrow. My editor is coming over Saturday and I need to finish up the next chapter or she'll kill me."

"So, as your muse, what do I actually have to do?" Gilbert asked.

Francis smirked. "You'll see."

"Do I have to get naked?"

"What about 'you'll see' don't you understand?" Francis snapped. "Oh God, what's in these cigarettes? I think I'm getting dizzy."

"It's awesome, right?" Gilbert stubbed out his first one and lit up another. "How much longer do you think it will take the car to get here?"

Francis shrugged. He was definitely getting light headed. "No clue," he said, leaning a little on Gilbert, who, if he noticed, didn't say anything. "No fucking clue."

* * *

**A/N:** Next chapter will be little bit more serious but it might also be a little confusing. Sorry, but that's all I can give you. Thanks again for the wonderful feedback. I love France/Prussia but it's so rare and I'm glad people are actually give it a chance ;A;

And remember kids, just because my characters smoke and drink copious amounts of wine doesn't mean you should too. Take care of yourself!

-with love

dancer


	3. Of Freud and Bananas

**A/N: **Sorry this took so long. This was and probably will be my least favorite chapter to write :/

Enjoy!

**Extra Note: **And what's that? Did the rating go up or something? Why yes, I did up the rating. I'm still trying to decide just how mature/explicit future chapters will be, but, to be safe, it's going to stay M for now.

And in case you forgot Angelique = Seychelles, Belle = Belgium

**Disclaimer**: **I don't own Hetalia, ****Gauloises cigarettes belong to Imperial Tobacco and Viagra belongs to Pfizer**  


* * *

_Of Freud and Bananas  
_

"So are you actually going to tell me what I have to do or are we just going to keep eye-fucking?" Gilbert said. He was stretched out lazily on the opposite couch. Francis blinked. He hadn't realized that he was staring. His mind didn't often wander, unless he was brainstorming, but he had felt unfocused and disoriented that whole morning. No doubt these were side effects of Gilbert's hippie cigarettes; although the other man wasn't showing signs that he was feeling anything except normal. Whatever normal was for him; Francis had no idea. This was only the beginning of their second full day together. Mentally, he checked it off as another day closer to the day that he would be rid of his new muse. What had happened the night before had not been a bonding moment. It was no heartwarming beginning to a tender, loving relationship. It hadn't even been a normal experience. He had probably been high as a kite when the car Lovino sent had finally arrived and he was not responsible for anything he might have said that might have caused Gilbert to believe that they would ever be anything except employer or employee. Francis was through mixing business with pleasure. Arthur—damn him—had made sure of that.

Francis let out a dramatic sigh and instantly regretted it. He sounded like a wounded man remembering a lost lover. Technically, he was—despite his denial as to just how wounded—but that didn't mean present company had to know. He coughed softly and reached to grab a cigarette from the side table. Not a pot-laced death stick, but a regular one, his own Gauloises', bought at 6:30 a.m. that morning by Gilbert, who had grumbled at the sheer indignity of the whole matter.

"It's fucking 6:30 a.m.!" He had half protested, half yawned.

"This wouldn't be happening if you had bought the right ones yesterday," Francis had snapped, hardly perturbed by the early hour. He thought mornings were charming and romantic. His books were full of sunrises.

"But what's wrong with the type I got?"

"I'm pretty sure that they are illegal in most states."

"The guy I bought them from said they were legit."

"Oh God, you actually bought them from a dealer? Those things are legitimately hallucinogenic. They're disgusting."

"They're awesome."

"You're still high."

"101% not." Francis had rolled his eyes at this, already irritated by the banter.

"I highly doubt that, and, even if you are, it's not changing my mind. Go." He had shut the door before Gilbert could say anything else. Two hours later, he had expected to be disappointed when the front door finally swung open. Instead, Gilbert had finally proved that he could actually listen to directions. Out of the shopping bag had tumbled, not only the cigarettes, but a new box of cereal. Francis had been silently grateful. Gilbert had gone back to bed. Francis had let him sleep an extra hour before dragging him to the sitting room and announcing that he would be writing now. That had been over twenty minutes ago and his computer was still off.

Francis lit the cigarette and frowned at Gilbert as he exhaled.

"You're much to crude," he said. Gilbert grinned.

"I'm bored. I thought you were going to start writing."

"I'm thinking. It's all part of the literary process," Francis lied. He had had people walk out on him before but no one as abruptly or—he would never admit this out loud—as painfully as Arthur. Honestly, he didn't know to do next. Belle had accused him of not making an effort to get to know him employees, which wasn't at all true. Whenever he had a new muse, the first thing he did was learn to understand them; understand their habits, their mannerisms, and even their seemingly insignificant quirks. The more he understood them, the easier it was for him to write. As for Arthur, he hadn't just understood him, he had—

"Oh, well I guess I should probably ask you now what your books are even about," Gilbert said, rudely breaking into Francis' thoughts. "I know they involve sex, but what's the er, what's the word, point? No, uh…like the storyline?"

"The plot?"

"Yeah, that's the word! What's the plot? People having sex?"

Francis' scowl deepened. "I don't write cheap pornography. This is serious literature." Gilbert crossed his arms and attempted to look inquisitive.

"Explain," he said. Francis stood up and took one of the many copies he owned of his first novel from the bookshelf. He threw it at Gilbert, who caught it with one hand.

"Read it yourself," Francis said, sitting back down. Gilbert flipped quickly through the pages.

"Are you kidding me? This thing has to be over 300 pages. I haven't read anything longer than twenty pages since college." Francis almost commented that he was surprised that Gilbert had even gone to college but decided against it to avoid an argument. Gilbert casually tossed the book aside.

"At least give me a synopsis of it," he said.

"I don't understand how you know the word 'synopsis' but not 'plot'. But whatever. I doubt you will be able to understand without actually reading the books, but, in short, they are a psychological analysis of the sexual being."

"Like Freud?" Gilbert asked. Francis actually snorted.

"Freud wishes he could write like me. These books aren't about sons wanting to kill their fathers and marry their mothers or about how eating a banana means you're horny," he said. Gilbert actually giggled.

"Eating a banana means you're horny? That's a new one."

Francis rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. Stupid nonsense like that. I'm not trying to prove that humans are sexual beings. I thought that was obvious by now."

Gilbert yawned curtly. "Then what are you trying to do?"

Francis stubbed out his cigarette and lit a new one. "The main character is a man who has been cursed to never be physically intimate again."

"His doctor couldn't prescribe him Viagra?"

Francis almost smiled. "Unfortunately, it wasn't strong enough," he said dryly. "Cut off from the world of pleasure, he takes it upon himself to understand the human sexual signals—the triggers that lead to intimacy."

"Like eating a banana?" Gilbert ducked as Francis threw a pillow at his head.

"No!" he said, heatedly. "Obviously nothing that you would ever understand! Basically, in the end, he hopes to be able to understand enough to overcome the curse."

"Hold on a hot second. So your books are about a guy trying to get laid?"

Francis sighed. "That is probably the simplest way to put it, but, yes," he said.

"What the hell? And you made so much money off them? Even I could write about that!"

"I'm sure," Francis muttered.

"So where do I come in? What do you need me for?" Gilbert asked, excitedly.

"Well I presume that you're human and therefore a sexual being?" Gilbert grinned widely.

"You know it," he said. Francis struggled to keep his face even.

"Then that's all I need. As my muse, when I'm writing, your only job is to be here." Gilbert raised an eyebrow.

"And…?"

Francis smirked. "And that's all. You're going to be my inspiration. The only thing you need to do is be in my presence."

"And I don't even have to get naked?"

"Unless you want to," Francis said, although he mostly hoped that he wouldn't. Mostly.

Gilbert reclined further on the couch. "Damn, this is going to be the easiest job ever. Can I eat when you write?"

"If you have to."

"Smoke?"

"Yes, as long as it's not those hippie cigarettes."

"Drink?"

"I would prefer you didn't, but you can. Just don't get sloppy."

"Can I eat a banana?" Francis stood up from the couch and Gilbert held his hands up in surrender. "I was just kidding! Chill!"

"Are you always this stupidly irritating?" Francis snapped. Gilbert managed to look somewhat offended.

"Um, no. I'm awesome."

Suddenly feeling extremely tired of everything, Francis sighed and headed towards the kitchen. "I need a drink," he said.

"Pour me one too!" Gilbert called after him.

"No," he said, but still took down two glasses. He chose red wine because he was in the mood for a good sulk. It would take a miracle for him to finish his book now. He couldn't even try to begin to understand Gilbert because was too busy trying not to kill him. Fortunately, he was about three-fourths done with the book—another reason why Arthur's quick departure stung so much. He had been so close to the end. This was to be the last book of the series—the epic conclusion. Would his tortured character finally succeed or stay forever and unwillingly celibate? He hadn't actually decided on an ending yet. There was speculation covering all possible spectrums on the internet and in the tabloids. Fans and critics stood on both sides. Not surprisingly, most people believed the character would succeed. He had made major strides in the last book and for him not to would be a terrible letdown. However, those on the opposite side pointed out that the loss of his ability to be physically intimate had significantly improved the character's personality. A man who once never took a second to get to know a person outside the bedroom now had to actually learn what the meaning of a relationship was. This had led to a bittersweet romantic side plot that Francis had not initially planned. He had wanted to tragically kill off the love interest in the previous book but Arthur had persuaded him not to, saying that it would lead to a most unpleasant downer ending and probably undo all the good the love interest had done on the main character. Francis had reluctantly agreed, although he had had a great urge to maim the love interest in some way. In the end, he had put her on a plane to Italy—too annoyed to do anything else with her at the time—with promises to return. She had yet to appear in the last book, although she had been mentioned here and there. With Arthur now gone, Francis considered finally getting rid of her once and for all, but, for some reason, couldn't bring himself to do so. So far, her character had proved to be the most difficult to write. She was far from an angel. She was no morality pet or wise advisor but was almost painfully honest, completely unsympathetic and, more or less, a bitch. His readers loved her. She was described as 'revolutionary'. She was too bad to be good but she had yet to cross the line, although she flirted with it constantly. She was a mystery to Francis and he very much wanted to keep her in Italy.

"Having trouble with that?" Startled, Francis nearly knocked over the still unopened wine bottle in his hand. He looked up to find Gilbert leaning against the kitchen doorway, his Cheshire cat grin in place. "I was starting to get worried. Who spends ten minutes getting drinks?"

Francis scowled. "Leave me alone. I was thinking," he said. Gilbert sauntered into the kitchen and took the bottle from him. He grabbed a large knife from one the drawers, placed it to the neck of the bottle and popped off the cork with a swift move.

"It's cooler with champagne," he said, setting the bottle gently down on the table before replacing the knife. Francis couldn't help but be impressed.

"Where did you learn that trick?"

"Cameron Diaz. 'What Happens in Vegas'." Gilbert leaned against the counter. " So what were you thinking about?"

"None of your business," Francis said as he poured the wine.

"Arthur?" Francis nearly dropped the wine bottle for the second time.

"Don't say that name in this apartment!"

"So you were thinking about him."

"I was not! How do you even know about him?"

"You two were practically attached at the hip for three years. I may not have read your book, but I watch T.V. and I read People Magazine when I'm in the check-out line at the grocery store. Who doesn't know about Arthur Kirkland?"

"I said, don't say that name! He's a former employee, thus, not my concern anymore and definitely not yours either!"

"Why'd he quit?" Gilbert asked. Francis gaped at him.

"Didn't I just say that it's none of your concern? Drop. The. Subject. Now."

Gilbert picked up his wine and swirled it slowly in the glass before taking a small sip. He made a face and put the glass down. "This stuff is terrible," he said.

"This is a $500 bottle."

"Waste of money. Anyway, about dear Artie. I was just wondering why he would suddenly up and quit when you two were together for so long. I mean, besides the annoying chores, this job is awesome. Why would anyone want to quit?"

"Maybe you should ask him yourself," Francis said through clenched teeth. "I'm not talking about him. This conversation is over."

Gilbert picked at a chip in corner of the counter. "Did he break your heart or something?"

"I will break this bottle over your head."

"Excuse me for being a little curious."

"You're not being curious, you're being inappropriately curious. Stop it now."

"Why are you being so defensive?"

"I'm not being defensive! How many bosses have you had that talk about previous employees?"

"A few."

"Well they're all idiots."

"If you don't care about him anymore, then what's the big deal?"

"Why the hell you do even care?"

"I told you, curiosity. I want to know what I'm in for."

"You won't be around long enough to find out," Francis said. It came out harsher than he intended but he didn't apologize. Gilbert only shrugged and swirled his wine.

"I know I'm just a temp. I'm not expecting us to form some lifelong friendship. I just want you to be upfront with me while I'm here. I won't hide anything from you. Don't keep me in the dark."

Francis stared at the wine bottle between them. "Some things aren't meant to be shared." He sighed. "Arthur…left because he got fed up with me. I've been told I'm not the most pleasant person in world. Maybe you've noticed."

"Well you are a bit of a bitch…and a drama queen…and a snob…and—"

"Ok! I get it!" Francis said angrily. His temper spiked when Gilbert started laughing. "What's so funny?"

"You are. You're kinda cute when you're angry."

"I'm always cute."

"You can add self-absorbed to the list."

"Less than three days and you already have a list. I'm surprised that you're even still here."

"You kidding? No way I would quit. I need the money. Besides, you're not half bad. Your personality suits you."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"That was the point. Duh. You are slow today."

"Why you—"

"How about a toast?" Gilbert said suddenly, holding up his glass of wine.

"To what?"

"To you. I know I won't be working for you for long but I believe that you will be my most awesome boss ever." Francis smirked, but dutifully clinked glasses with him.

"Just so you know, no amount of sucking up is going to get you a raise," he said.

"It was worth a shot." Gilbert smiled, letting Francis know that he still meant most of what he had said. It was oddly touching. Francis had never seen himself as a good boss. Even at their best, Arthur had still called him lousy. It was nice to have someone believe in him. The moment was interrupted by the front door opening.

"Francis! Eyebrows! Are you home? I'm coming in! You two better be decent! I'm still scarred from the last time!"

"It's my editor," Francis said in response to Gilbert's questioning look. "I'm in kitchen! And I'm wearing clothes!" He called.

A few seconds later, a dark-skinned woman with girlish pigtails tied with ribbons that suited her, stepped into the kitchen. Her eyes were covered with her hands.

"Is it safe to open my eyes? You better not be lying again, Francis," she said. "Is Eyebrows skulking around?"

"Arthur quit," Francis said shortly. The woman immediately dropped her hands, her dark eyes widening in surprise.

"Say what?" she gasped. She noticed Gilbert leaning against the counter. "Oh, hello. You are?"

"Gilbert Beilschmidt."

"He's Arthur's replacement," Francis said. Later, he would realize that he forgot to say 'temporary'.

"Eyebrow's quit? Why the heck would he do that?" The woman all but outright screamed.

"It's really not important. By the way, Gilbert, this is Angelique."

"Awesome to meet you."

"I wish I could say the pleasure is all mine, but it's not. I came over here expecting a nearly completed chapter for a nearly completed book. Francis, what are you going to do without Arthur?"

"That's why I got a replacement," he said casually. Angelique crossed her arms.

"That easy?" she asked skeptically.

"Antonio even recommended him."

"And you'll be able to work with him?"

"He's good. We actually started writing today," Francis lied.

"You two do know that I'm right here?" Gilbert spoke up. They both ignored him.

"You and I both know this could completely throw off your writing," Angelique said.

"Don't be so dramatic. I've changed people before."

"Yeah, but you're last book was the most successful. Do you want to know why?"

"Because I'm a literary genius?"

"Because you had consistency! You went through six people writing your first two books!"

"And both were extremely successful," Francis countered.

"But neither could hold a candle to the last one. And unlike the first two, this one is the favorite to win at the awards. How could you do this to yourself? To your career?"

Francis poured himself another glass of wine. "I didn't do anything. Arthur left on his own. Yell at him"

"I will." Angelique pulled her phone out her pocket and furiously began punching in numbers, but before she could make the call, Francis snatched it out of her hand.

"Don't," he said.

"Give it back! Eyebrows has it coming to him!"

"If you're going to call Arthur, I'm going to put your phone down my pants." Gilbert burst out laughing. Angelique gasped.

"You wouldn't dare," she said.

Francis smiled. "You know me better than that. I would. Leave Arthur alone."

"Damn it. Ok, fine! I promise not to call him! Now give me my phone back!" Francis slid the phone across the counter to her. She cradled it to her chest like it was a child. "Thank you. I'm going to trust that you can still get the chapter done by this weekend." She turned to Gilbert.

"You. I will come after you if anything goes wrong with this book."

"No worries," Gilbert said, completely undisturbed by the threat. "This is going to be as awesome as myself." Angelique gave him a half smile.

"You better hope so," she said before turning back to Francis. "I have a meeting in five minutes. I only came over to check on your progress. I hope to find everything completed and perfect by Saturday."

"Have I ever let you down?"

"No, so please don't start now. Not when we're this close to the end. I'll see you later." Angelique strode out of the kitchen. Francis flinched as she slammed the front door behind her.

"She's usually the sweetest person ever," he said. He turned to find Gilbert smiling widely at him. "What?"

"You told her I was good."

"I was trying to get her off my back."

"You like me."

"Don't be presumptuous."

"Admit it. You think I'm awesome."

"No."

"Say it. 'Gilbert is awesome'."

"How about, 'Gilbert is fired if he doesn't get his ass back to the sitting room?' You heard Angelique. It's your head if the chapter isn't ready on time."

Gilbert drained the rest his wine. "Fine, fine. But I'm going to make you say it eventually.

"Keep dreaming. I'll be there in a few minutes. I need to make a phone call."

Gilbert grabbed the wine bottle. "This stuff isn't that bad after awhile." He tucked the bottle under his arm. "Maybe I'll actually start reading that book of yours," he said as he shuffled out of the kitchen.

"Please, and do us bother a favor," Francis muttered when he was gone. He waited for a couple more seconds before he picked up his phone and dialed one of the few numbers he knew by heart.

"I'm surprised that you even picked up," he said. "No, don't hang up. I can't talk long and I just wanted to ask if you could do me a little favor. Meet me tomorrow at the Empire Hotel around noon? Why? Because I have something to ask of you. You owe me at least this. I promise to be good. I can't explain now. Just be there tomorrow. I know you will. See you then." Francis hung up the phone with a smile. Things were going to turn out fine. He jumped nearly a foot in the air at the sound of a crash from the sitting room.

"Hey, Francis," Gilbert called, "does red wine come out of white carpets?"

* * *

**A/N:** I'm having fun with these two. Sorry if this chapter seems a little slow. It should pick up a little next time. Thanks for all the wonderful feedback!

-with love

dancer


	4. Just a Little

**A/N:** I feel like ff . net always chooses the exact moment when I finish a chapter to decide not to work. I finished this chapter really fast but uploading it was a pain in the ass. Please enjoy!

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia**

**In case you forgot: Angelique = Seychelles  
**

* * *

_Just a Little_

Francis didn't check his watch until after his had finished his second martini. It was ten minutes past noon, but this didn't offset his good mood in the slightest. He had expected him to be late. It was his manner to tease and taunt him, but Francis was confident that he would be there. He had arrived at the Empire Hotel at exactly noon and had headed straight for the bar. His morning had been tiresome, to say the least. Gilbert had still been scrubbing the carpet when he had left the apartment, the red stain still ugly and still there. Francis was still furious at him and purposely hadn't told him that he would probably have the whole room re-carpeted anyway. There had been something very satisfying in watching Gilbert, muttering curses in German, on his hands and knees scrub angrily at the stained carpet. Remembering it made the corners of Francis' mouth curve slightly upwards and he signaled to the bartender to bring him another drink. Just as the man was about the leave, a young woman slid into the seat next to Francis and placed an order for an old fashioned scotch.

"Only one ice cube, please," she added. The bartender nodded and went to go fill the two orders. The woman then turned to Francis, a coy smile appearing on her lips when she saw his awed expression.

"What? Were you expecting me to order a Cosmopolitan? Or perhaps a Sex on the Beach?" she asked, amused.

"Something of the sort," he admitted. "Even I rarely drink scotch and, when I do, I have at least three ice cubes. At least."

"What a pussy," she said, but in such a good natured, teasing manner that Francis couldn't help but return her smile. She held out a pale hand, showing off her French manicure and the sapphire engagement ring that winked in the low light. "Sophia," she said. Francis took her hand, not surprised by her firm grip.

"Francis," he said, following her suit.

"My fiancé has business in the city," Sophia said before he could ask, "and believing me to be nothing except an empty headed twit, left me here to go make deals and kiss ass. We've been here almost a week and I'm about to go mad. I don't know anyone here and re-runs of 60s classics can only entertain you for so long." She reached into her small purse and pulled out a box of cigarettes. She tapped her expertly filed nails against the box and a lone cigarette fell onto her smooth white palm. She put it to her lips and Francis lit it for her.

"So," she said, blowing a cloud of smoke in the air, "who are you waiting for?" The bartender arrived with their drinks. She didn't pick hers up immediately and instead watched Francis, her large, hooded green eyes reminding him of a cat. Her expression wasn't exactly predatory, but just a little more than curious. He set down his drink and met her gaze.

"What makes you think that?" he asked. Sophia rolled her eyes.

"Please. Men like you don't come to places like this unless they're waiting for someone. Wife?"

Francis held up his empty left hand. "Unfortunately, no."

"A lover then. A secret one, because what other reason would you have to meet in a hotel?" Francis only smiled.

"What time were they supposed to be here?" she asked.

"Noon."

"And you're not worried that they are late?" Francis shook his head.

"I would be worried if they were early."

"So are you anticipating a pleasant encounter?"

"It's hard to say." Sophia shook her head and waved a finger at him.

"That's never a good thing. This reminds me of a movie I saw last night. Don't ask me the name because I don't remember it."

"Did it have a happy ending?" Francis asked. Sophia shrugged.

"Hell if I know. What's the difference between a happy one and a sad one? In the end, someone still gets jilted," she said. She stubbed out her cigarette, picked up her scotch and tipped the whole thing back. She set the glass back on the bar and stood up. "'Breakfast at Tiffany's' is on in ten minutes. I've seen it five times but it's not like I have anything else to do." She signaled to the bartender. "Put anything he orders on my tab," she said, indicating Francis.

"Yes, ma'am," the bartender said.

"You don't have to do that," Francis said. Sophia waved her hand in a dismissing gesture.

"You were the best company I've had all week." She reached into her purse and pulled out a pen. She took one of the napkins from the bar and wrote down her name and room number in a neat, flowery script. "In case your meeting is not a pleasant one," she said, handing it to Francis. He slipped it into his pocket with a smile. He watched her go, noticing that he wasn't the only one fixated on her retreating figure. He turned around when he heard a small cough behind him. Standing there was Arthur, his arms crossed across his chest. Although he wore a pair of dark sunglasses, Francis knew him well enough to know that he was scowling.

"I missed that face," he said.

"Cut the crap, Francis," Arthur snapped. "You have five minutes to tell me whatever you want to say and then we're done forever. Why did you choose this place anyway?"

"Because it's busy. People are too wrapped up in their own lives to care about anything going on around them. The press doesn't know about your…departure and I would like to keep it that way."

"Why? You already have a replacement," Arthur hissed. Francis raised an eyebrow.

"Did Angelique call you?"

"Last night. I think my ears are still ringing." Francis sighed.

"I can't say I'm surprised."

"That makes two of us, although I didn't know you had a thing for Germans."

"I don't. Angelique didn't tell you? Antonio recommended him. I had no choice but to say yes."

Arthur smirked. "Running out of options I see. Good to know that I'm not the only one that was tired of your shit. Now what do you want?"

"I was hoping that we could talk somewhere more private," Francis said, holding up a hotel key. Arthur gaped at him.

"You didn't…" he said.

"I didn't. It's actually a friend's room. I'm just borrowing it for the afternoon."

"You must be insane if you think I'm going to go with you to a hotel room. Me being here is bad enough. If we can't talk here, then forget it. I have other places to be."

France pretended to look hurt. "Honestly, Arthur. It pains me to think that you can't trust me after three years."

"That's the point; I don't trust you and I can't believe it took me three years to realize just how much of a lying bastard you are." Francis frowned. That had actually stung a little. He drained the last of his martini and stood up from the bar.

"Nothing is going to happen. You've made it clear that our relationship is finished but can't we just talk, as old friends?"

"I'm not your friend."

"Fine, as former acquaintances. I promise it will be quick." Arthur still looked skeptical. "I'll even leave the door open. Happy?"

"No, but I want to get this over with, so fine. Only on the condition that you keep your hands in your pockets the whole time." Francis grinned.

"Deal."

"Who's room is this anyway?" Arthur asked when they reached the door of the hotel room.

"Old friend from college," Francis said. "He's in town for a book signing. He'll be gone all day so it was easy enough to get him to lend me his key." He opened the door and gestured that Arthur enter first.

"Hands in your pockets," Arthur ordered. "And don't close the door."

"Of course, of course. You look a little tired. How about a seat on the bed?" Arthur glared daggers at him. "It was just a joke, but seriously, how about a drink? I know they just restocked fridge." Inside it were two bottles of wine; one red, one white. Francis went with red.

"No. No wine," Arthur said. "You put that down now. And your hands are not in your pocket."

"Relax Arthur. At least let me pour myself a glass. Are you sure you don't want some?"

"I know what you're doing," Arthur said angrily. "And I'm not falling for it."

"Whatever could you mean?" Francis asked, innocently. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"You know what? Fuck this. Fuck you. I'm out of here." He headed for the door. Francis caught him before he could leave, grabbing his hand.

"Let me go or I'll kick your ass," Arthur said through clenched teeth.

"I don't understand why you're being so hostile. Haven't I been anything except polite since you got here? I just want to talk. "

"I know you have some sick ulterior motive. I know you too well." Francis pulled him closer so that they were only inches apart.

"You think so?" Arthur blushed and pulled his hand free, although he didn't move back.

"Just tell me what you want," he said.

"What I want, is you," Francis said. Arthur's eye grew wide for a second before they were replaced by a look of pure anger.

"That's it! I'm out of here." He turned around but Francis pulled him back once more.

"Hold on, hold on. It's not what you think. Just listen, please," he rarely ever said please and this was what caused Arthur to stop.

"I'm not asking for what we had before, I know that's over. What I need is for you to be my muse again." Arthur looked genuinely surprised and Francis took this as a good sign.

"But what about your new guy? Throwing him away already?"

"No. Not yet at least. Gilbert…is ok. He's extremely annoying, but he's not a bad person. The problem is that I can't write with him."

"How do you know that? You've been together less than a week. It took a month after you hired me for you to finish even one chapter."

"I just do, ok? He's not someone I can understand. I don't even know if I want to understand him. I spent all day with him yesterday and couldn't even get one word down."

"You probably just need more time with him."

"Angelique wants the chapter by Saturday but I know that's impossible now."

"What is it about this guy that you think you can't understand him?" Arthur asked. Francis shrugged.

"I don't know. I can't pin down his personality. So far, he's been an enigma."

"Ok, first, tell me what he's like. What does he do?"

"He talks, a lot. He's loud. Brash. Nosy. Manipulative. Arrogant. Uncultured. Clumsy. Ignorant. A thug…"

"It sounds like you know him very well."

"No, those are just shallow characteristics. You can find them anywhere. I need something deeper, but I can't get there."

"I think your problem is that you don't want to get there." It was Francis' turn to look surprised.

"Excuse me?"

"You're so used to dealing with people either handed to you on a silver platter by Antonio or that fit this so called ideal image you create. Angelique made it seem like you guys were some great match, but, from what you've told me, this guy was far from your first choice." Arthur almost sounded smug.

"I already told you that. But neither were you and look how that turned out!" Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Ok, maybe the ending wasn't that great, but I never wrote as good as when you were with me. That's the truth." The smug look on Arthur's face fell away, replaced by something Francis couldn't quite read but he decided that this was the opportunity he had been waiting for. He took a step closer to Arthur, shortening the already incredibly small distance between them.

"I don't think you understand just how important you were to me. How important you are. You brought out the best of me."

"You mean I made you the most money?"

"That was just a bonus. With you, it was as if I had this endless supply of ideas. I could write for days. Now, I've got nothing. So know, that when I say I need you, I'm not lying." They were so close now. Without thinking, Francis reached up to take Arthur's face in his hands. He leaned in but was stopped by a hand on his chest.

"No," Arthur said, firmly, if softly. "I can't." He pulled away and began moving towards the door. "I can't help you anymore." He reached the door and this time Francis didn't stop him. "Please don't call me again," he said over his shoulder before he left. Francis didn't run after him. He closed the door and then fell onto the bed with a loud sigh. If even his most heartfelt confession couldn't get Arthur to come back, then it really was over, which left him right back where he had started with an unfinished chapter and a muse he couldn't write with.

"My career is over," he said out loud. He would have to find a new job, although he wasn't quite sure what he would do. He had dabbled a little in fashion in the past. He could pack his things, move back to Paris and open his own little boutique. He could give up on beating Roderich, he could give up his books, he could give up his apartment, his friends, his money. He could do it. He could give up on Gilbert.

Francis sat up suddenly, not even caring that he now had a slight bed head. "No. I refuse. There is no way I'm letting that idiot ruin my life. Francis Bonnefoy is no quitter." Filled with renewed determination, he stood up from the bed, surprised when a little piece of paper fell from his pocket. He reached down to pick it up and realized that it was the napkin that the woman from the bar had given him. It read simply: Sophia, Room 815. Francis pocketed the napkin with a grin and grabbed the unopened bottle of red wine before leaving the room. When he knocked on the door of 815, Sophia opened it with a knowing smile.

"What took you so long?" she asked. "You've already missed the best part of the movie."

"I've seen it before."

"Another time wouldn't hurt." She opened the door wider. "Come in. I see you brought wine. Good boy."

.

.

.

When Francis arrived back at his apartment later that afternoon, he saw that Gilbert had given up on the carpet. The dark stain almost seemed to taunt him as he glared at it and if it wasn't for the fact that he had just had amazing sex with an amazing woman he would probably never see again after watching 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' for the second time, he would have been more annoyed. Instead, he threw his coat on the couch and walked past the cleaning products and bucket of dirty water to find out what his temporary muse was up to.

Gilbert was in the kitchen, watching a movie on a computer Francis didn't even know he owned.

"Yo boss," he said, without looking up. "You need a T.V."

"Nice job on the carpet," Francis said dryly.

"Don't get snippy. I did the best I could. Anyway, I called this place to have the room re-carpeted. That stain was never going to completely come out. I knew you could afford it."

"Please tell me you called someone credible and not some ten dollar amateur."

"Name and number is on the fridge," Gilbert said, opening a can of beer. There were already three empty cans on the table.

Francis found the number and was surprised to see that it was the same people that he had been going to call when he got back. Once again Gilbert had proved himself useful and competent.

"So I did a good job?" Gilbert asked.

"What makes you think that?"

"You've got this dopey little smile on your face."

"I do not!"

"And now it's gone. How sad. So do I get a raise?"

"No!" Francis huffed. "What is with you and money?"

"Um, I can buy things with it?"

"Stop being a smartass. You keep pestering me for a raise. Maybe you should actually tell me why you need it so bad." Gilbert didn't answer immediately. He closed the laptop and finished the can of beer before he finally spoke.

"Ok, fair enough. I guess it's time you finally met her," he said.

"Who?"

"The love of my life."

"Who?" Francis said again, more surprised than he had expected.

"I just told you. The love of my life. We'll go see her now," Gilbert said, standing up from the table. "My brother even let me borrow his car for the day so we don't have to ask the scary guy downstairs. I gotta give the computer back to your cute neighbor first or her brother will beat me up." Francis watched him go, not quite sure what to say. Gilbert hadn't mentioned that he was in a relationship and, for some reason, this annoyed him.

"So much for being honest with each other," he muttered, darkly.

"Are you coming or not?" Gilbert called. Francis almost yelled no, but then changed his mind. He wanted to meet this woman, if only to find out what was so special about her that Gilbert deemed her 'the love of his life'. She was probably hideous with big eyebrows…and British.

She turned out to be none of these. Half an hour later, Gilbert pulled into an empty parking lot in front of what Francis thought was a condemned building.

"Where are we?" he asked, slightly disoriented from Gilbert's driving.

"We're here," Gilbert said, getting out of the car. Francis followed him.

"Where is here? I thought we were going to see your girlfriend."

"What girlfriend? I don't have a girlfriend." Francis stared at him.

"But you said 'love of your life'!"

"I wasn't talking about a woman. I was talking about her," Gilbert said, pointing to the building. Francis didn't even try to hide his confusion.

"You've lost me," he said. "What is this?"

"We haven't settled on a name yet but I was thinking 'Gil and Matt's Epic Awesome Sports Bar'."

Francis now felt like a complete idiot. "You're kidding me…a sports bar? And who's Matt?"

"My best friend and business partner. We've been working to buy this thing for years and we've almost reached out goal. We finally bought the property and now we're working on furnishing the inside. Wanna see?"

Oddly relieved to find out that this was what Gilbert had been talking about, Francis nodded.

"I can't believe you thought I had a girlfriend," Gilbert said when they reached the door. "Wait, hold on a min, were you jealous?"

"Of course not!"

"You were totally jealous!"

"I have no reason to be jealous! Can you please open the door now?"

Chuckling, Gilbert pulled a small key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. "Whatever you say boss."

"I don't like that tone."

"Sorry boss."

"Stop with the boss."

"But I like calling you boss."

"I prefer Francis."

"Ok, fine. Francis." Gilbert said, grinning. Francis felt a strange feeling in his chest when Gilbert said his name and he didn't like it. At all.

Gilbert finally got the door opened, revealing a dusty room that was clearly in the middle of being re-modeled. There were ladders stacked against the wall and cans of paint all over the floor. There was a giant hole in the ceiling from which electrical wiring dangled. The floor was a mess of its own, with loose boards scattered all over. Francis made sure not to step on any nails as he followed Gilbert inside.

"So what do you think?" he asked. "Awesome, right?"

"It's a mess."

"For now. Wait until it's done. This place is going to be so cool!"

"Just how did you decide to open a sports bar of all places?" Francis asked. Gilbert grabbed two dusty chairs and set one down by Francis before sitting down on the other.

"Sit and I'll tell you," he said. Despite the fact that his clothes were brand new, Francis sat down and listened, realizing, for the first time, that he understood just a little about Gilbert Beilschmidt. Just a little.

* * *

**A/N:** Next time, depending on how I decide to arrange/pace the chapter, we may finally get to see Austria/Roderich. If not next chapter, then the one right after. Thanks so much for all the wonderful feedback!

-with love

dancer


	5. It's Not Me, It's You

**A/N:** This chapter is a little longer than usual. I hope that won't be too much of a problem. Thanks again for all the wonderful feedback! Enjoy ;)

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or Cabernet Sauvignon**

**Extra Notes: Angelique = Seychelles, Belle = Belgium  
**

* * *

_It's Not Me, It's You_

Francis Bonnefoy was impressed. He couldn't even remember the last time someone had impressed him. There were interesting people in his life, of course, but rarely did someone have the ability to genuinely awe him. This was partly because he had dealt with so many different types of people on a daily basis that it was uncommon that he was presented with an unique idea, and partly because of his own high standards. And to think that it was Gilbert, his dysfunctional temporary employee that had impressed him was even more shocking.

As annoying as it was to admit, Arthur had been right about one thing. Francis hadn't wanted to understand Gilbert. He had seen the other man as nothing except an irritant, someone to be barely tolerated because he had no other choice. He had created his own shallow assumptions and had stubbornly stuck by them. True, he still had his doubts, but Gilbert had definitely risen—just a little—on his personal opinion's ladder. To prove to his brother and his grandfather that he was not, in fact, a royal fuck up, Gilbert had decided to go into the family field of business and open up his own establishment. He had chosen a sports bar because, in his opinion, there was nothing more awesome than alcohol and sports, particularly soccer, and because he knew it would drive his grandfather insane. The older man didn't approve of the idea at all but he couldn't criticize Gilbert either because he was doing exactly what he had been raised to do, just in his own unorthodox way. The only thing his grandfather could do was sit back and wait for him to fail so that he would come back home to his "real" job. No one had expected Gilbert to earn enough money to pay his rent, let alone actually buy the building property and order the initial repairs. Gilbert estimated that he had gone through at least fifty different jobs over the past ten years, ranging from a janitor to a brief stint as a dietitian. In the end, he was always fired—for varying completely unfair reasons that he didn't feel the need to disclose—but then he always went back to searching, sometimes for months, for another job. His last job had been as a night watchman in a local brewery. That had ended when he had been found partially unconscious surrounded by at least fifteen empty bottles of premium beer. He had been fired immediately and at the worst time. Already three months behind on rent, his landlord hadn't even given him a chance to plead his case and had promptly thrown him out on his ass. At the time, his biggest worry had been what to tell his fellow business partner. In his third year in college, Gilbert had formed an unlikely friendship with Matthew Williams; a quiet young man who only wished to get out of his brother's oversized shadow. Matthew had found Gilbert's idea intriguing and soon the two were working together towards a common goal. They had divided the costs and each had pursued their own personal quota their own way. Unlike Gilbert, Matthew had held two steady jobs since they had graduated, one at an ice cream shop, the second at a pet store. He was about $2,000 short of his part of the money. Gilbert was a little over $12,000 short. And this was why he had been so persistent in his efforts to persuade Francis to give him a raise. Matthew had already had to cover his ass twice when he had fallen behind on payments and he hated the thought of him having to do so again.

"I never would have imagined I would hear this kind of story from you," Francis said when Gilbert had finished. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a carton of cigarettes.

"I've got it," Gilbert said. He produced a scratched up lighter and lit the cigarette between Francis' fingers. "And you're not the only one." His cell phone suddenly started ringing. "Shit, it's my brother. He's probably wondering where his car is. Be right back," he said before heading towards the front door.

When he was gone, Francis leaned back in his chair and thought about what to do next. Before Gilbert had even finished his story an idea had begun to form in the back of his mind. It was more than a little crazy and he couldn't believe he had even thought about it but he couldn't let it go because he knew what it was like to be Gilbert—to have everyone doubting you and expecting nothing except failure.

One hundred and thirty-four. That was the number of publishing corporations that had rejected his first book. That was one hundred and thirty-four letters that had said: "At this time, we believe the subject matter of your book too inappropriate…we don't believe such a book will be profitable…". Five times he had been scammed into paying thousands of dollars of 'upfront' fees. By the time his literary agent had gotten in contact with the one hundred and thirty-fifth corporation, he had been out of a job for almost two years, had exactly ten dollars to his name and was sleeping on Antonio's couch. The one hundred and thirty-fifth corporation had been, at the time, relatively small and unknown and had required a simple processing fee of $20. After being ripped off so many times Francis had been reluctant to pay but his agent had encouraged him to do so. After some thought he had finally relented, borrowed $10 from Antonio and sent his manuscript in the mail, expecting, at worst, nothing, and, at best, another rejection letter. Three weeks later, after he had nearly given up all hope, he had heard a knock on Antonio's door on a dull Thursday afternoon. He had opened it to find a woman sporting girlish pigtails and a large smile who had introduced herself as Angelique Babineaux. She had come to tell him that his book had been accepted and that she was his new editor. He had kissed her right then and there and she had never really forgiven him for it.

He and Gilbert had both struggled in their own ways and it was this that eventually made up his mind. He looked up when he heard the front door open and saw an annoyed looking Gilbert step back into the bar.

"So we've got to go now or else my brother's going to beat me up. Not that he could, but I'm not in the mood to fight right now," he said.

"I have a deal for you," Francis said.

"A raise?"

"Even better," Francis said, smirking. "I am willing to pay the rest of what you owe so, instead of getting a paycheck every month, you'll be working for nothing." Gilbert's jaw dropped.

"You're shitting me," he said. Francis shook his head.

"Not one bit. Believe it or not Beilschmidt, you've impressed me. I admire people who understand just what 'hard work' means. You clearly do despite how you might appear. So what do you say?"

"…I still don't believe it."

"Do you want me to write the check now?" Francis huffed. "I can if you want."

"But this whole week you've acted like I'm the worst thing to ever happen to you."

"I have not!"

"You kind of have."

"Only because you haven't, until now, given me a reason not too!"

"Just because I washed your clothes, bought the wrong cigarettes, got us stranded in the ghetto—"

"—ate my cereal, called me old, tried to butt into my personal business, spilled red wine on my carpets—"

"—saved your reputation, gave you a coupon that was given to me, went out at 6:30 a.m. to buy the right cigarettes and the right cereal—that you didn't even ask for— and spent almost three hours scrubbing your carpet before calling the cleaners. Oh and if it hadn't been for my cell phone, you never would have been able to call for help in the first place."

"Well if you hadn't practically carried me out of the car and had just left me be, the driver never would have ditched us."

"Yeah, because I was supposed to carry all of those clothes by myself."

"You never would have had to if you had just taken them to the drycleaners like I told you to! All of those things happened because of your inability to follow directions. Do you even listen when other people are talking?"

"Sorry, what did you say?" Francis stood up from his chair and walked up to Gilbert so that they were face to face.

"Listen up Beilschmidt and listen up good. You could be the hardest working person in the world but you're nothing if you don't learn that your way is not always the best way. You can't go through life ignoring what other people are saying."

"Because you're such a good listener yourself."

"I know how to follow directions."

"I sincerely doubt that," Gilbert said, grinning. "You're just like me. You don't give a shit about what anyone else has to say. Your way or the highway, right? And don't try to deny it. I bet if I called up any of your old employees they would tell me just that, especially dear old Arthur. Oh, definitely him."

"You don't know anything about me," Francis said through clenched teeth. They were nose-to-nose now and he was barely resisting the urge to punch the other man. "And the only thing that we have in common is that neither of us is willing to back down when someone says no. Correct?"

"Yes."

"So do you want the money or not?" Gilbert blinked.

"Are you serious? You'll really give it to me? Why?" he asked.

"I already told you. You've impressed me. Consider it the highest honor you'll probably ever get from me."

"What about Matthew?"

"I'll take care of that too."

"Does he have to work for you then?"

"No, he can just send me the money. We'll set up some sort of payment plan."

"But how come I—"

"Because you signed a legally binding contract," Francis said in his sweetest voice. "So you are mine until Antonio finds me someone more permanent. At your current salary, that's still about five months of work you owe me. And I dare you to break your contract. I will make your life a living hell."

"Well you don't need to worry about me quitting. Gilbert Beilschmidt doesn't quit. You've got yourself a deal."

"Excellent, we'll draw up the paperwork when we get back to my apartment. Are we done here?"

"Yeah, I just need to lock up." Gilbert flipped off the lights before following Francis out the front door.

"What was your friend's last name again?"

"Matthew? It's Williams." Francis frowned.

"That name sounds familiar. I just can't remember from where. Does he read my books?"

"Not that I know of…"

"Hmm, well I'm sure it will come to me later. Could you perhaps drive a little slower this time?" Francis said when they climbed into Gilbert's brother's car.

"Where's the fun in that?" Gilbert said before putting the car in drive and slamming on the brakes.

The first thing Francis did when they got back was collapse on the couch to stop the spinning in his head and try not to throw up. When he felt better he called Angelique to ask for an extension. She was not pleased and spent five minutes yelling at him for letting her down.

"I just need a week," he said when she finally took a breath. "I promise, that's it."

"If Arthur was still there—"

"Well he's not here and there's no use pretending that he is. By the way, stop leaving him threatening voicemail messages."

"That eyebrow bastard deserves it!"

"Calm down and back off."

"Fine! But I swear to God Francis, if you don't have that chapter done by next Friday I'll—"

"Hang me by my ankles off the roof of my building. I know."

"And don't forget it. Bye!" She hung up. Chuckling, Francis set down his phone.

* * *

After they had drawn up the paperwork and the money had been exchanged, they made a formal schedule. During the week, from eight to noon, Francis would be writing and every extra hour Gilbert slept in was an extra hour Francis got to keep him. If everything went as it should, from noon to five Gilbert was allowed to work on anything pertaining to the bar. With the final payments down, the pace of the renovations had picked up and the grand opening was scheduled for the end of July. With still plenty to do before then, Gilbert needed as much time as Francis could spare. Often, he wouldn't get back until 5:30, some days, even six. If he was in a good mood, Francis would pretend not to notice. From then until ten Francis was writing again and after that was more or less 'free time', as elementary as that sounded. The weekends were more open to interpretation. On good days, Francis either kept writing or they talked about whatever random topic came to mind first or Gilbert went next door to borrow Belle's laptop. He would lie on the couch watching a movie that Francis pretended not watch over his shoulder.

"You should just buy a T.V.," Gilbert would say when he caught him peeking.

"Television rots the brain," Francis would reply before going back to whatever paperwork he would be attempting to do.

On bad days, as soon the clock on the wall struck ten, Francis would power down his computer and either lock himself in his room or go visit Antonio. He would tell himself he didn't care when he heard the slam of the front door and then pretend to be asleep when, hours later, Gilbert stumbled back into the apartment, sometimes too drunk to make it to his room so in the mornings Francis would find him sprawled on the couch. On these days, any comment that passed between them turned into a shouting match and Francis feared that if they stayed in each other's company longer than necessary, fists would start to fly. It usually started with the little things. Gilbert would borrow something without asking. He would leave his plate on the table. He didn't like Francis's tone. He thought books were stupid. Could he leave early, just this once? For some people, these little habits would have been easy to overlook and forgive but Francis was not 'some people'. So they fought and yelled and needled each other with insults until, since neither of them was ever willing to back down, they couldn't even remember what had started the argument in the first place. Sometimes Francis thought that in another life they would have been very close but very bad friends. He wasn't even sure what to call them now. They had definitely gone past simple "employer" and "employee" and were hovering somewhere between "potential friends" and "potential fuck buddies". The latter had started out as a joke but was quickly becoming a reality. His biggest problem was how to deal with it. Without thinking, he brought it up in a conversation with Antonio one day. It was 2:00 in the afternoon and Gilbert had left to meet with Matthew—Francis was still trying to remember where he had heard that name before—so bored, hungry and unwilling to cook for himself he had gone over to the restaurant and had been pleased to find that not only were there only a small handful of customers but Lovino was out for the day. He hated whenever Francis came around because he believed he had some sick plan to carry Antonio off to his bed. How surprised (or furious) he would be if he one day found out that Francis fantasized the same thing about him as well.

"I didn't know you were coming over," Antonio said when Francis swung open the door to his office.

"I would have called but I didn't expect you to have your cell phone." Antonio quickly checked his pockets before giving him a sheepish smile.

"You're right, I left it at home," he said. Francis rolled his eyes.

"Typical. You should just tape it to your body so that it's always with you."

"But wouldn't it get spoilt when I took a shower?"

"The things that come out of your mouth…anyway, I came here to ask you for a favor."

"Sure, anything for you." Francis sat on the edge of Antonio's desk and reached over to pull him up by his tie until that they were only inches apart.

"How about letting me borrow Lovino for the night?" he asked softly. Antonio grinned.

"Not even in your dreams."

"You could join us. I miss the old days when I would wake up to see you sleeping next to me. I miss morning sex."

"Aww, it's so cute when you get nostalgic. Sometimes I miss those days too."

"We could—"

"But they're over and done with, just like we are." Francis sighed and let go of Antonio's tie.

"You used to be so much more fun," he said.

"I think it's called growing up," Antonio said, straightening his collar. "Is that really what you came over here to ask?"

"No, I actually was wondering if you could exchange notes with Gilbert about food and alcohol suppliers. He's made a list of a few but I don't really know anything about that sort of business so I was thinking that you could advise him on who's good and who's a rip off."

"Sure, I would love to. He could have called me himself though."

"Actually, this was my idea. I didn't tell him I was going to ask you. He has a lot of other things on his mind and I just thought this would ease some of the pressure."

"Wow Francis….that was really…nice of you. Are you feeling alright?" Antonio asked. Francis scowled at him.

"I'm feeling just fine. Am I not allowed to do nice things for other people?"

"You are but you don't do it often."

"I donate to charities!"

"You donate to one charity and I think the last time you even sent them anything was two years ago."

"You know, I remember why we stopped living together now."

"Can we not talk about that? I'm not in the mood to fight."

"Neither am I. Gilbert and I fight enough as it is."

"Well that's not good. About what?" Francis shrugged.

"I don't even know. It's not all the time. There's just a lot of tension between us…sexual tension."

"Hold on, how long has Gilbert been working for you?"

"About a month now."

"And you haven't slept together?"

"No," Francis said, the absurdity of the situation dawning on his, "we haven't even kissed."

"Because you're not attracted to him?"

"No, I am. It's not like I don't want to sleep with him…I'm just trying not to." Something that was becoming extremely difficult. Antonio suddenly stood up from his chair and enveloped him in a tight hug.

"Oh Francis, I'm so proud of you. A whole month! You've never lasted a month before!"

"Honestly Antonio, you act like I'm some sex-obsessed maniac." Antonio opened his mouth. "Don't you dare say anything," Antonio closed his mouth and sat back down.

"I really am proud of you. We both know what happens when you sleep with you employees. Sooner or later it ends, very badly. Usually sooner. The fact that you and Arthur were together for so long is still amazing." Francis crossed his arms.

"It's not my fault," he said.

"I didn't say it was."

"You were thinking it. It was written all over your stupid face. It's not me, it's them. This is the 21st century. You think people would realize by now that sex doesn't equal love. Yes, it's a form of expressing love and, being French, I can't resist offering a little _l'amour_, but that doesn't mean I'm actually in love. So I tell them this and then comes the whining and the pleading and the crying and the threats, my God. I can't take it anymore. Especially not after Arthur. Even if it kills me, I cannot sleep with Gilbert. There is no such thing as friends with benefits, Antonio. I think we know that first hand. In the end there's always emotion and it all becomes such a mess and I'm so tired of dealing with it."

"In that case, I have only one bit of advice for you."

"What?"

"Don't sleep with Gilbert."

* * *

Arthur had been wrong about one thing. Writing didn't get easier with time. After a month with Gilbert, Francis still struggled to get even a single sentence down. Writers block was nothing new to him—all authors dealt with it from time to time—but it was something that he only encountered when he lacked inspiration, which he no doubt had. Gilbert was his muse and he was definitely doing his job. The problem was transforming this inspiration to ideas and then putting the ideas in words and then putting those words on paper. Somewhere between turning the inspiration into a tangible, single idea, Francis got lost. His thoughts were completely scattered. He could focus, at most, a few minutes on one idea before it was lost in the mess. He had never experienced such a problem before and it was beginning to worry him. He wondered if it was the after effects of transitioning so abruptly between two people. Arthur and Gilbert were nothing alike and neither was the manner in which Francis saw either of them. Eventually, he concluded that it was merely an adjustment problem and that it would pass. And it wasn't as if he couldn't write at all, he was just going at a slower pace. Angelique had been pleased with the last chapter he had given her although, afterwards, she had told him that it was different from anything he had ever written before. Not in content, but in style. It wasn't extremely obvious, but there was a slight change in his writing style. She had reassured him that it wasn't a bad thing and in no way did it affect the quality of the plot.

"Just don't change too much," she had said, lightheartedly. Francis didn't want to change at all so the next time he gave her a chapter he made sure to closely read over it before sending it to make sure nothing sounded…different. He breathed a sigh of relief when she didn't say anything besides her usual comments.

A few weeks later he woke up in bed and immediately knew something was wrong. He glanced over at the clock on his bedside table and saw that the time read 5:00. In the morning. He had always liked getting up early, but even he couldn't function at 5 a.m. Slightly confused about what had woke him up in the first place, Francis lay back down and closed his eyes, expecting to drift off any second. Thirty minutes later, he was still awake. He rolled over onto his side, his stomach, and then his back but still couldn't fall asleep. He thought counting sheep was childish but tried it anyway. He was quickly irritated and gave up. He toyed with the idea of digging his old Bible out from underneath the bed. That, and Sunday sermons, had always sent him straight to sleep. It was a pity that he hadn't stepped into a church in over twenty years. Finally, he rolled out of bed and headed for his closet. He pulled on a light t-shirt, a zip-up sweater and black athletic pants. He grabbed his untouched gym shoes, which he couldn't even remember buying and walked quietly through the hall to the front door. On his way, he grabbed his sunglasses from the kitchen table. It would be a cold day in hell before he let anyone recognize him dressed like this, especially since he wouldn't have Gilbert around to beat up any annoying paparazzo. He grabbed a carton of cigarettes too. He pulled on the practically brand new shoes, tied his hair up and slipped out the door. The city park was only a few blocks away and it was unlikely there would be many people there. In any case, he would just look like another morning jogger.

Just as he had guessed, the park was relatively deserted when he arrived. In a few hours it would be filled with tourists, teenagers skipping schools, stay at home mothers with their strollers and barking dogs. But at that moment, it was just him and the runner he had passed a few minutes earlier. He walked until he came to the recently renovated bridge. Underneath it ran a skinny river at a snail-like pace. It was the most relaxing spot in the whole park. Francis leaned against the railing and lit up a cigarette.

"Well excuse you." Startled, Francis quickly looked in all directions for the voice and found an old woman sitting on a bench at the edge of the bridge. She was surrounded by a small crowd of ducks who were gazing hungrily at the bag in her hands. He had been so lost in thought that he hadn't even noticed her and her…companions.

"Can I er, help you?" he asked.

"Yes, you can spit out that thing in your mouth. It's poisoning me. The ducks don't like it either." The ducks didn't seem to care in the least and were only concerned with the bread crumbs the woman dropped onto the floor.

"You're far enough away for it not to affect you and the breeze is going in the other direction anyway."

"So? It's still disgusting to look at."

"Then don't look. Unlike you, I'm not doing anything wrong." He pointed to the sign behind her that clearly said "Do Not Feed The Animals".

"I'll do whatever I want," the woman said.

"And so will I," Francis said. He then turned away from the woman and hoped that she would stop speaking. She glared at him for a few seconds before she turned back to the ducks. She threw crumbs at them for a few more minutes before she gathered up her things and hobbled away. Francis watched her go out of the corner of his eye. When she was gone, the ducks began to honk at him, almost angrily, as if it was his fault that she had left. He wondered if he was going crazy. First, waking up at an ungodly hour for no apparent reason and then encountering a senile old woman in a remote corner of the park. Now he was possibly being verbally harassed by ducks. This definitely wasn't a common occurrence in his life. He waited until it was 7 a.m., the time when more people began to trickle into the park, before he left his spot on the bridge and went back home. As he closed the door of the apartment behind him, he was, for once, grateful that Gilbert was a heavy sleeper. It wasn't worth it to go back to bed because he needed to be up in less than an hour and was still wide awake. So instead he tossed his clothes in the corner of his room and jumped in the shower. By the time Gilbert finally crawled out of his room Francis was sitting at the kitchen table, his hair unbound and drying, with a cup of coffee in his hands, not looking the slightest like someone who had woken up at 5 a.m.

"You look annoyingly chipper this morning," Gilbert muttered. Francis smirked over the rim of his cup.

"I'll take that as a compliment." He said.

.

.

.

Two weeks later, Francis woke up with the same feeling of something being off. A check of the clock confirmed that it was 5:00 and once again, despite his best efforts, he couldn't fall back asleep. Sighing, he climbed out of bed and pulled on the same clothes from two weeks earlier. He was only half-surprised when he arrived at the bridge in the park and saw the same old woman. She glared at him when she saw him approaching.

"Come to try and poison us all again?" she snapped. He grinned and waved the cigarette in his hand at her before lighting it. Her frowned deepened. "That thing will kill you."

"Everyone dies eventually," he said.

"That doesn't mean we should lay out the welcome mat for death."

"Who are you? My fairy godmother? Some wizened old mentor come to show me the evil of my ways? Go bother someone else. I'm not here for words of wisdom."

"Why are you here then?" she asked. That was a very good question that Francis didn't have an answer to but he wasn't about to start discussing it with a crazy old woman.

"Fuck off," he said.

"Well, excuse me," the woman said. She emptied the last of the bread crumbs onto the floor and then she left in the same direction she had gone the first time.

_Perhaps I'm having a midlife crisis,_ Francis thought when she was gone. If thirty-four counted as midlife. _Early midlife then_. He was definitely stressed out more than usual, what with the nominations in a week, his troubles with writing and his problems with Gilbert. No doubt this was just a reaction to all the recent changes in his life. After the nominations he would take some time off; a week to himself where he wouldn't have to worry about deadlines or changing writing styles or not sleeping with his employee. Maybe he would fly home. Paris was still nice at this time of year. In a few weeks it would be flooded with tourists but, at the moment, it would still be the home he remembered. To think there was a time when his life used to be so simple…

When he opened the door to his apartment, he was surprised to see Gilbert curled up on the sofa. He didn't remember hearing him leave and yesterday had actually been one of their good days. The clock on the wall read 7:30 and Francis was tempted to wake him up by kicking him onto the floor but instead he grabbed the throw blanket off the couch and dropped it on him. He then took a shower and instead of putting on his writing clothes, he went in the direction of semi formal and chose a white dress shirt, a gray vest and gray dress pants.

"Why so fancy?" Gilbert asked when he saw him. "And why didn't you wake me up? It's almost ten."

"We're not writing today. We're going shopping. The book nominations are in a week and you will of course be accompanying me. This will be your first formal introduction to the press and we need to make sure you look your best."

"But I have a lot of work…and I hate shopping."

"Too bad. Reschedule your plans. You need at least two good suits."

"I hate suits and ties are suffocating."

"Do I look like I care? Hurry up and get dressed. Our appointment is at noon."

"We actually have an appointment? Damn it Francis, why do you always have to make everything so complicated? Couldn't we just go to a department store?"

"You know nothing about high quality!"

"It all looks the same to me. It's just a waste of money."

"The prices are perfectly reasonable."

"Ridiculous you mean. That's how you know rich people are all idiots. They believe all that stupid shit about 'quality' when you can get the exact same thing at a thrift store."

"…are you calling me an idiot?"

"Not you specifically…"

"Well poor people are idiots for not understanding that there is in fact a difference in quality. A very big difference."

"Are you calling me poor?"

By the time they left the apartment it was well past noon and they weren't speaking to each other. The shopping trip began as more or less a disaster. Gilbert refused to stand still to be measured and when they finally did get his measurements, he rejected every suit they brought out for him.

"Can you just pick one?" Francis snapped. "Even I'm not this picky."

Gilbert was seated on a stool in front of the mirror, wearing only a sleeveless undershirt and his boxers. He glared at Francis's reflection. "I already told you, I hate suits. We might as well go." Francis groaned and rubbed his aching temples.

"I would really appreciate it if you just…I don't know, didn't act so much like a stubborn jackass right now, excuse my language. I think I'm on the verge of a mental breakdown."

"Does that have anything to do with why you went out so early today?"

"You were in the apartment?" Francis asked, surprised.

"Yeah, I was coming back from the bathroom and I heard footsteps. I thought it was a burglar. Where were you going? Especially dressed like that."

"I went…jogging."

"Really? You seem more like the Yoga type." Francis laughed.

"The only time you would see me twisting myself into different positions is in bed," he said.

"I wouldn't mind seeing that."

"I wouldn't mind showing you." Francis regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Immediately he stood up. "Excuse me," he said before hurrying out of the dressing room. Where had that come from? He was veering off into dangerous territory, something he could not afford to do, especially after how proud Antonio had been of him. Part of him was angry, who cared what Antonio or anyone else thought? Why should he deny his nature to please them? The other part, a shrill annoying voice in his head that had a faint British accent, reminded him exactly what could happen if he didn't control himself. He felt as if he had a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other and both had such equally convincing arguments that he couldn't pick a side.

"Hey, Francis."

"I don't know which one to choose!" Francis yelled.

"Don't worry, I already did." Francis realized that the voice he had heard hadn't come from inside his head. He turned around to see Gilbert fully clothed, looking at him with a confused expression.

"What?" he asked.

"I picked the suits. Can we go now?"

"You did? Which ones?"

"I can barely remember now. I just went eenie, meenie, miney, mo. Works every time." Francis sighed.

"You're impossible, you know that?" he said. Gilbert laughed.

"But you love it, right?" Francis only smirked and didn't give him the pleasure of an answer.

* * *

"I expected more people," Gilbert said. He tugged at his collar and Francis resisted the urge to snap at him. Despite his low opinions regarding formal attire, Gilbert cleaned up very nicely. He had even smoothed back his usually messy hair. If only he would stop fidgeting with his tie, he would look almost perfect. "And more press."

"These are just the nominations. The only people here are the nominated authors and their guests." Francis said.

"When are the actual awards?"

"The first week of September."

"That makes no sense, what the hell are these people doing in the four months in between?"

"Why don't you ask them?"

"Maybe I will."

"Please don't embarrass me."

"Congratulations Francis!" A woman with short dark hair called out to them as they passed.

"Thank you love, but the nominees haven't even been announced."

"Don't try to be humble Francis, everyone knows you'll be first on the list."

"I can only hope so," Francis said, grinning. "Good luck to you as well." As they got closer to the ballroom, more people called out words of congratulations.

"Wow, you're really popular," Gilbert said after a man in a severely tailored suit rushed up to Francis to shake his hand.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," he said dryly.

"Hey, check it out, they have a chocolate fountain! I'll be right back." Before Francis could stop him, Gilbert practically ran off. He only hoped that he wouldn't stain his clothes.

"Well, hello there Francis. Are you ready to lose?" Francis groaned and turned around to face Elizabeta Hédeváry, the second to last person he wanted to speak to at the moment. Unfortunately, standing behind her was the last person he wanted to speak to at the moment.

"Now there Elizabeta, there's no need to taunt the competition," Roderich Edelstein said. "At least not until after the awards. How are you Francis? We heard a rumor that you've been going through some trouble recently?"

"Is that so? Well they do say that one should never trust a rumor," Francis said evenly. "I'm perfectly fine, thank you very much. In fact, never better."

"How goes the last book?" Elizabeta asked, smirking. "It's supposed to be your best, right?"

"Everything is going very well. How is life with you? Judging by the lack of a ring on your left hand, Roderich still hasn't asked you to marry him yet. How sad," Francis said, barely concealing his delight when he saw the red flush appear on both of their cheeks. "Don't wait too long Roderich; someone else might snatch her up in the meantime."

"He doesn't have to worry about that," Elizabeta said. "I'm not going anywhere. By the way, where is Arthur?" Francis froze. "He is here with you, isn't he?" Gilbert chose that moment to reappear, a plate of chocolate covered strawberries in his hand. He nearly dropped them when he saw whom Francis was speaking with.

"Gilbert?" Roderich gasped when he saw him.

"Wha-What the fuck are you and the Wicked Bitch of the West doing here?" Gilbert asked.

"Still the nicknames Gilbert? Glad to see you haven't changed," Elizabeta said, scowling.

"Wait, you three know each other?" Francis asked, completely confused.

"We went to college together," Gilbert said shortly.

"How do you two know each other?" Elizabeta asked.

"I'm working for him," Gilbert said.

"This really is a small world," Roderich said. Francis noticed that he was looking everywhere except Gilbert, who was locked in a glaring contest with Elizabeta.

"What happened to Arthur?" Elizabeta asked.

"He quit," Francis muttered.

"Now that is something I'm not surprised to hear at all, although perhaps I should be since no one has leaked it to me yet," Elizabeta said. "It was only a matter of time."

"Why don't you shut your mouth, homewrecker," Gilbert snapped.

"Why don't you make me?" she countered.

"Both of you stop it," Roderich said. "We need to go inside the ballroom now anyway. Good luck Francis. Gilbert…it was…nice seeing you." He offered his arm to Elizabeta who took it, but not before shooting Gilbert another dark look.

"Just what sort of history do you have with those two?" Francis asked when they were alone.

"I told you, we went to college together," Gilbert said.

"And what happened in college? You called Elizabeta a homewrecker. That calls for an explanation."

"I don't really want to talk about it."

"I think I remember you saying once that you wouldn't hide anything from me, that you wanted me to upfront with you? Well now I'm asking you to be upfront with me."

"I can't believe you remember that." Gilbert sighed and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Fine. Roderich is…my ex." Francis blinked.

"As in, ex-_boyfriend_?" he asked. Gilbert nodded, not looking up from the floor.

"We met during my first year. We pretty much hated each other at first but by the second semester we were together. We met Elizabeta in our second year. She was a transfer student and we sort of formed this little group. Of course, I shouldn't have expected it to last, not with my luck. All the bitch had to do was bat her eyelashes and a few months later Roderich comes up to me and says we need to 'talk' and everyone knows what that means. Do you know what he said? He said "Gilbert, it's not me, it's you" and that was it. I lost my two best friends just like that. Luckily I met Matthew the next year. Thank goodness for him. But yeah, that's my pathetic little story. Happy?"

"Why would I be happy?" Francis asked softly.

"Because now you know I really am the loser you always call me."

"I never actually mean it…you're not pathetic Gilbert."

"You don't have to lie because you feel sorry for me." Francis laughed. "What's so funny?"

"Why would I ever feel sorry for you? I know the last thing you want is my pity. You're not that type of person. You know what I think? I think you're too good for either of them. You deserve better."

"Damn…that had to be the nicest thing you've ever said to me. Are you feeling alright?"

"Why does everyone think something is wrong with me when I try to be nice? I am a nice person! I—" He was cut off as Gilbert leaned forward to hug him. He was so shocked he couldn't even move, let along think about what was happening.

"Thanks," Gilbert said when he pulled away.

"Y-you're welcome," Francis murmured.

"I knew Roderich was a writer but for some reason I never expected to see either of them here. Isn't Elizabeta some sort of gossip?"

"She is, in fact, editor-in-chief of one of the most popular celebrity magazines in the country. But she runs an anonymous gossip column on the side. Or so I hear," Francis said. "We should probably go inside now. We don't want to miss what we actually came here for."

"You so better win this thing."

"I already told you, the awards aren't until September. I have to get nominated first!"

"Which you will."

"And how do you know that?" Gilbert smirked.

"I just do."

Despite the fact that he was favored to win, Francis was still surprised when his name was read off. He endured the applause and Gilbert's yelling and flashed a smug smile in Roderich's direction, which was promptly returned by Elizabeta when Roderich's name was read seconds later. And as much as he would have liked to join him, he was forced to tell Gilbert to shut up when he started booing. Afterwards, Francis was forced deal with the crowds of people who came up to congratulate him. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Elizabeta approach Gilbert. They spoke for a few seconds before he stood up and followed her out of the ballroom. The happiness Francis felt dimmed a little as he watched them go, wondering what exactly she had said.

.

.

.

"Will Roderich be alright without you to hold his hand? Although, I don't know how he can touch you without throwing up," Gilbert said.

"I didn't ask you out here so that we could insult each other," Elizabeta said. They were standing outside by the back door of the building. A cool breeze swept over them and Elizabeta shivered. She was wearing only a knee-length, one shoulder green wrap dress and she had left her shawl inside. The gentlemanly thing for Gilbert to do would have been to offer her his jacket. He kept it on.

"So why did you drag me out here?"

"Because there was a time when we were good friends—"

"Before you ruined everything."

"I'm going to ignore that. As I was saying, because there was a time when we didn't hate each other's guts, I'm going to give you some important advice. Stay away from Francis Bonnefoy."

"…what?"

"I'm serious Gilbert. He's no good. You don't want to get involved with him."

"And why is that?" Gilbert said, starting to get annoyed.

"Because he's a grade A douchebag who only cares about himself. You're just going to get hurt."

"Hey, that's my boss and my friend you're talking about!"

"You're friend?" Elizabeta laughed. "Francis doesn't have friends. He only has employees and everyone knows what happens to them."

"You know what, I don't have to listen to this shit," Gilbert said. He turned back towards the door but stopped when Elizabeta grabbed his arm.

"Please Gilbert, for once in your life, listen! He's just using you and when he gets bored he's just going to throw you away! He doesn't care about you!" Suddenly, Gilbert couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed Elizabeta's arm and shoved her against the wall.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" He hissed, angrily. "You have no right to talk about him that way. You know nothing about him!"

"I have my sources and they probably know a whole lot more than you do! Do you think you're so special because he confides in you, buys you fancy suits and pays for all your little expenses? I'm sure he's already told you just how impressed he is with you, that he admires you." That got Gilbert's attention. He loosened his grip on her arm.

"How, how did you know?" Gilbert asked, his voice softer this time. Elizabeta shoved him backwards and pushed herself off the wall.

"Because that's what he does for everyone who works for him," she said, brushing the dust off her dress. "They're called his 'boy toys' for a reason. He plays with them and then tosses them away like trash. You know, for awhile I thought Kirkland was different but I guess even he couldn't take it in the end. Please Gilbert, get out while you can."

"Sorry, I can't. I have a contract," Gilbert muttered.

"Fuck the contract! That's just his way of controlling you!"

"I…I need to go. Francis is probably looking for me."

"Don't go back to him Gilbert! I'm trying to help you!"

"Well I didn't ask for it! I can take care of myself. Bye Elizabeta." Gilbert swung open the door and went back inside, Elizabeta's cries still echoing in his ears. He found Francis standing by the chocolate fountain. He watched as he slowly dipped in a strawberry before popping it in the mouth of the woman next to him.

"It's even sweeter when it's from you," the woman giggled. Francis licked the chocolate off his fingers and Gilbert felt an unfamiliar pang in his chest when he gave the woman a slow smile.

"Everything is sweeter from me," Francis said, silkily. The woman giggled again. Scowling, Gilbert marched up to the pair.

"Hey boss, can we go now?" he said.

"Where have you been?" Francis asked. "And what's with the 'boss'?". At that moment, Roderich and Elizabeta passed by them.

"Congratulations again, Francis. I'll see you in September," Roderich said.

"See you then. Have a good night," Francis said. Roderich gave Gilbert a curt nod. Elizabeta said nothing. She refused to look at Gilbert. It wasn't until she and Roderich were almost at the front door that she turned around, the message in her eyes clear. She had warned him and it would be in his best interest to listen to her.

"Did something happen between you two?" Francis asked, trying not to sound too concerned. "I saw you follow her out."

"She tried to cast an evil spell on me," Gilbert said simply. "Too bad for her I'm stronger than that." Francis stared at him before he shrugged.

"Okay then. So, while you were gone, Antonio called. He's coming over to celebrate. I told him to bring plenty of wine."

"Sounds great," Gilbert said dully.

"Francis, how come you never invite me to parties?" The woman next to him whined. Gilbert glared daggers at her.

"The parties you're invited to, my dear, are very private. They involve…" Francis leaned down to whisper something in her ear and the woman burst into another round of giggles, her face now bright red.

"Hey, we don't want to keep Antonio waiting." Gilbert said.

"Yes, of course not," Francis said. He took the woman's hand and kissed it slowly. "I expect to receive your RSPV as soon as possible." She giggled again and Gilbert was overcome with the urge to dunk her in the chocolate fountain.

"You can count on it," she said. Gilbert had to practically drag Francis out the door.

On the drive back to the apartment, he sat silently, barely listening to anything Francis was saying besides him. Elizabeta was one of the last people on earth he would ever trust but if that was so, then how come he couldn't get what she said out of his head? Everything she had told him was completely ridiculous. She was probably just jealous because she now realized what a bore Roderich was and wanted to make herself feel better by spewing lies. How sad.

"Are you okay?" Francis asked him. "You're being very quiet and it's starting to scare me."

"Sorry, I was just thinking."

"Now that's even scarier," Francis said, smiling.

"Shut your mouth," Gilbert said, but not meanly.

"If it was those two that you were thinking about, remember what I said, you deserve a lot better than that." Against his will, Gilbert felt the corners of his mouth curving upward.

"Yeah, I know," he said and then, belatedly added, "Thanks."

* * *

"You should have seen Roderich's face, Antonio, when the chairman said my book was, I quote, 'one of the most unique, daring and riveting books of the century'. It was priceless, like if he just ate a bag of sour grapes," Francis snickered. "Actually, now that I think about it, he always looks like that."

"You have the awards in the bag," Antonio said, pouring himself another glass of wine.

"Don't jinx it. That's what you said last year…and the year before."

"Yeah, but this year you have the awesome me," Gilbert said. "I'm your good luck charm. You can't lose."

"Hey Gilbert, after Francis wins, can I have you? I'm opening up another restaurant and I need all the luck I can get," Antonio said.

"You are assuming, my friend, that I would be willing to give him up in the first place," Francis said.

"No need to fight over me guys, there's plenty of Gilbert to go around." Antonio laughed and Francis rolled his eyes. "But seriously, you two are awesome. I feel like we've known each other forever."

"We are quite the odd trio," Francis admitted.

"But we would totally work," Gilbert said, his world slightly slurred so that "totally" became "to'ally". "Damn, I need more booze."

"Yeah, this bottle is completely empty," Antonio said.

"Worry not gentlemen," Francis said, getting to his feet. He wobbled slightly but stayed standing. "I have enough alcohol to sustain a small Russian village for five years." He stumbled towards the kitchen. When he returned he found Antonio fast asleep and Gilbert on the verge of nodding off.

"Wow…what a…what a lightweight," Gilbert muttered, pointing at Antonio. "He just keeled over, like…kersplat! What did you bring?"

"A twenty year old bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. I've been saving this for a very special occasion." Francis popped off the top and refilled both their glasses. "Antonio's been after me to open it forever. Of all the times for him to fall asleep, ha."

"It's not bad," Gilbert said, lowering his glass. "I think I'm becoming a wine person." He made a face. "Your fault."

Francis grinned "I'm not apologizing," he said. Suddenly he yawned. "What time is it?"

"Fuck. I, I can barely see from here. I think it's half past two. We've been drinking for three hours."

"Damn it," Francis groaned. "I'm going to be dead tomorrow."

"Tell me about it and I promised Matthew I would call the electricians tomorrow. They fucked up some of the wiring."

"I've actually been wondering about something. You and Matthew, are you just friends or…" Gilbert burst out laughing.

"Oh shit, no no no. Matt, my dearest bestie, is straight as an arrow. I can't say the same about his brother." Francis raised an eyebrow. Again, he had the strangest feeling that he had met this Matthew Williams somewhere before or at least heard the name but the memory was being annoyingly elusive and the alcohol wasn't helping.

"If we were, you know, fucking, would you be jealous?" Gilbert asked. He had abandoned his glass and was drinking straight from the bottle. Francis snorted, too drunk to snap at him for polluting expensive wine with his backwash and using crude language.

"As if I would be jealous of you. I've never even met the guy," he said.

"Not what I meant."

"Ohhhh, I see. You mean would I be jealous of him? In that case, of course not because if I wanted you, I could have you anytime I wanted."

"_If_ you wanted me."

"Yes, if…if." Francis drained the rest of his glass. His whole face suddenly felt hot. He glanced over to find Gilbert staring at him, a secret smile on his face.

"So…you don't?"

"I…I never said that." Gilbert set down his half empty glass and slid closer to him. Francis didn't move an inch.

"So you do."

"I do what?" Francis said heavily.

"Want me. You want me." Gilbert said. He was so close now that Francis could smell the wine on his breath. He reached up to twirl a loose strand of blond hair that had escaped his ponytail.

"Don't, don't put words in my mouth," Francis whispered.

"I have so many other things I want to do to your mouth," Gilbert said. Francis laughed.

"Like what?"

"Well first, this." Gilbert said before closing the distance between them. It was not the most graceful or romantic kiss. It was, in truth, a little rough and slightly clumsy but that was the last thing on Francis's mind as he kissed back. He had tried to avoid this, but he was only human and one could only resist for so long. He fell back onto the couch and with a sly grin he reached up and pulled Gilbert down to him.

"What, what about Antonio?" Gilbert whispered against his mouth.

"With that much alcohol in him, he could sleep through a hurricane…or Lovino's shrieking," Francis said breathlessly as he trailed a line of kisses across Gilbert's jaw.

"Should we call him?"

"Who?"

"Lovino. To come get him?"

"Lovino would just yell at us for waking him up. He'll get him in the morning. Now, please stop talking." Before Gilbert could say anything, Francis lifted his head and brushed their lips together, kissing him frustratingly light. When Gilbert tried to deepen the kiss he moved his head back, laughing at the annoyed look on his face.

"Always such a tease," Gilbert said.

"Would you rather I was easy?" Francis asked. His hand was slowly making its way down Gilbert's chest. His finger stopped at the edge of shirt for a second, curling beneath the cloth and brushing softly against bare skin before he tugged upwards. Gilbert got the message. In seconds, the shirt was on the floor and Francis was covering his chest in open mouthed kisses. Somewhere in the back of his mind came a chiding voice that said this was definitely something he didn't want to do. He ignored it as he drew lazy circles around one of Gilbert's nipples with his tongue and teased the other with his hand, enjoying the shuddering gasps from above. He reached for Gilbert's belt but was stopped by Gilbert's hand.

"Not so fast," he said before pulling Francis back up so that they were face to face. He then attacked his mouth, kissing him deeply and demandingly. Never one to go down without a fight, Francis kissed him back so that it became a battle for domination that left both of them breathless when they finally pulled apart. Gilbert then turned his attention to his throat and began trailing kisses, coupled with soft nips, down the smooth skin.

"I'll…kill you if you leave any marks," Francis said. He groaned when he felt Gilbert bite down just a little harder. He would definitely have a bruise in the morning. And suddenly, Gilbert's hand was at his pants, fumbling with his belt. Francis started to reach down to help him but then stopped when the reality of the situation hit him at full force. He was only a few thin layers away from having sex with Gilbert. _Gilbert_. Suddenly, the voice from before was back, this time it sounded like Antonio. Just what in the world was he about to do? Ruin another relationship because of his libido? Did he want to get himself into another mess?

"No," Francis said softly. "No," he repeated louder. "Gilbert, stop. Stop." Gilbert's hands froze and he gave Francis a confused look.

"…are you serious?"

"Yes. We can't do this..._I_ can't do this. Not again."

"You've lost me. Are you saying you're not having a good time?"

"No, I'm saying that I don't want it to end like this."

"I'm still lost."

"Shit, this sounds so cliché, but, it's not you, it's me." Gilbert pushed himself into a sitting position. Francis reached down and picked up his shirt from the floor.

"Is this like some sort of medical condition, like a disease?" Gilbert asked as he pulled his shirt back on.

"What? Of course not! Just trust me. This is one story whose ending never changes. We will be a whole lot better off if we don't do this."

"Ever?" Francis thought about it.

"For now. I…need some time," he said.

"Sure. Take as much time as you want."

"Are you OK?"

"Me? Of course. I'm awesome," Gilbert said. Francis smirked and then leaned over to kiss him.

"Good to know," he said before standing up. "Goodnight," he said over his shoulder as he headed towards his room.

"'Night," Gilbert muttered.

When Francis closed the door to his room behind him he let out a deep breath. He had been dangerously close to making a terrible mistake. That he had even been able to stop must have been divine intervention…if the divine worked in that manner. Whatever force had caused him to stop he was sincerely grateful to. Without bothering to change out of his clothes, Francis collapsed onto his bed. There were a million and one thoughts racing through his head, the most pressing one being what he would do next time. Would there even be a next time? And if there was, would he be able to say no? He fell asleep trying to come up with an answer. When he woke up the next morning, the first thing he did was check the time.

The clock read 5:00.

* * *

**A/N:** I love this story a little more with each chapter I write. Next chapter shouldn't be as long...perhaps ;3

-with love

dancer


	6. Homecomings

**A/N:** Sorry for the long wait. I've been busy with life and my other fics. Thank you for all the wonderful feedback! I never knew there is so much love for this pair! I was astounded to check my story stats and find that this fic has the most alerts out of all my stories. The number is in the three digits now and I seriously nearly flipped. I love you all (even you lurkers out there!) :'D

This chapter is sort of long again, which is odd because it wasn't supposed to be OTL

Please enjoy!

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

**Extra Notes: Belle = Belgium, Angelique = Seychelles, Katyusha = Ukraine  
**

* * *

_It's Not Me, It's You:_

_Homecomings_

Francis counted to three before he unlocked the door to his apartment. He walked inside with his eyes closed, counted to three once more and then slowly opened them. His apartment was as he had left it. In fact, it even looked cleaner than before. The carpets had been washed, the wood polished and the glass dusted. Francis had anticipated chaos, not order and he couldn't believe that Gilbert had achieved this level of order in the two weeks he had been away. After cooking—which he was completely useless at—keeping the apartment neat was the duty that Gilbert most often neglected. Francis usually overlooked this because of Gilbert's long hours working to get the bar set up. He wondered what had caused his temporary muse to do a 180°, but had a sneaking suspicion that money was involved. As much as he would have liked to believe that Gilbert had done this for him—to make him happy—Francis knew the other man well enough by now to know this his 'good deeds' all came with price tags. He was thinking about what Gilbert could possibly want from him now when he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. Gilbert poked his head around the corner and broke into a wide grin when he saw Francis standing there.

"You're back!" he said, as usual, too loud. "I thought at first it was the cleaning lady. She's late today."

So that explained the spotless apartment. Francis knew that this shouldn't have come as too great a surprise.

"So how was Paris?" Gilbert asked as he strolled over.

"As it always is—beautiful and full of tourists. But it was nice to finally have a real break. Where did you find a cleaning lady?" Francis said.

"Phonebook," Gilbert said casually.

Francis was still suffering from slight jetlag so he decided to save his critical comments for the next day.

"Well, at least the apartment looks good," he said. "Did you miss me?"

Gilbert snorted. "Are you serious? For two weeks straight I had this whole place to myself. No 'writing time', no snooty comments about my awesome wardrobe and no stupid errands. I was in heaven."

"Then maybe I should go on holiday more often," Francis said, his tone only slightly bitter.

Smirking, Gilbert walked closer to him. Francis held up his bag, expecting him to take it and was shocked when Gilbert leaned in to kiss him. It was surprisingly soft, with tenderness that Francis didn't know he possessed. What was most significant though was that the kiss said everything that Gilbert didn't aloud.

Gilbert stepped back, still smirking and said softly, "Welcome back."

Francis refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing how pleased he was. "I suppose that's one way to say it," he said coolly before dropping his bag in Gilbert's arms. "Put this and the rest of my luggage in my room. I'll be in the kitchen."

Gilbert chuckled as he reached down to pick up the rest of the bags. "Yes boss," he said.

Not bothering to correct him, Francis went to the kitchen and received his second surprise of the say. On the middle of the table sat an unopened bottle of wine; tied around the neck was a bright red ribbon. It was clearly a welcome back present and he didn't have to think for a second to know whom it was from. He picked up the bottled and saw that it was a 1995 Bordeaux Blend, straight out of Napa Valley—both a good year and grape type.

"He's trying too hard," Francis said to himself, but he was smiling. "Though I could never say no to such a gift. I suppose I should say thank you now." He took a glass from the cabinet and poured himself a drink.

He was lazily flipping through the large stack of mail that had been left for him on the table alongside the wine when Gilbert came into the kitchen.

"I see you found the wine," he said.

"I did and I must say that you have a lovely taste in gifts," Francis said. He set his half-empty glass on the counter and walked up to Gilbert until their faces were only inches apart. Then he leaned in further to whisper against his mouth, "I don't say this often but thank you." Then he kissed him, not sweet or soft, but hungrily and needy. He backed him up against the wall, wanting something that he had denied himself not just for two weeks but for more than two months. Gilbert reacted almost instantly, kissing him back just as fiercely, just as demanding. He reached up to tangle his hands in Francis's hair, long fingers tugging at the red bow that held everything perfectly together until it unraveled. The ribbon fell—immediately forgotten—from Gilbert's hand to the floor and he twirled those dark gold locks around his fingers, loving their feel—their silky softness—against his skin. Francis seldom let Gilbert touch him and he had never let him touch his hair except on the night of the award nominations. For that short moment he had let down his guard and given Gilbert a peek at his long-suppressed wanting nature, only to slam down his defenses minutes later. That had been over two weeks ago but it had been on Gilbert's mind ever since. Now, as Francis pressed him harder against the wall, their tongues sliding over each other, he wondered if his waiting was finally over.

Francis was thinking along the same lines. While on holiday, he had finally decided that he didn't care what Antonio thought or said. Gilbert was no Arthur. He wouldn't cry or whine if Francis didn't give him what he wanted. He wouldn't fall in love with him and then leave him. And, most importantly, he was only temporary. So Francis would do what he wanted with him and what he wanted now was to have him on his back on the table, writhing in pleasure and screaming his name. He sucked on Gilbert's lower lip and then bit down on it, not gently, the muffled moan that escaped Gilbert's mouth falling beautifully, wonderfully, deliciously on his ears. His hands were just reaching down to begin unbuttoning Gilbert's shirt when he heard the sound of the front door opening.

"Francis!" said a cheerful voice that belonged to none other than his editor. "I know you're here! Where are you hiding?"

Immediately, Francis pulled away from Gilbert. He reached down to snatch the red ribbon from the floor and tied his hair back. Then he grabbed his glass from the counter, threw back the remainder of the wine and then quickly refilled the glass, hopping it would explain his flushed features.

"Say nothing," he whispered to Gilbert, who was still leaning against the wall, his eyes dazed and face equally as red.

Less than a second later Angelique burst into the kitchen, sporting her trademark twin tails as well as a wide grin.

"There you are," she said happily."Welcome back!" It took her two leaps and a step to reach Francis.

"Hello, darling," he said, sweeping her into a tight hug. "And it's good to be back."

"I see you found my gift," she said proudly.

Francis raised an eyebrow. "Gift? What gift?" he asked.

Angelique smiled up at him as if she found his confusion endearing. "The wine of course. I spent a pretty penny on it so don't expect a Christmas present this year. My goodness Francis, you take your first real vacation in three years and run off to Paris for two weeks. I can't believe it but I actually missed you. Antonio did too. I stopped by his place yesterday and I found him looking at his watch with such intensity that I had to ask what in the world he was doing and he said that he was counting down the minutes until your plane landed. Isn't that the sweetest thing? I'm betting that he'll be here in no more than ten minutes."

Francis only nodded. He had barely heard anything Angelique had said. He was staring at Gilbert, who was looking almost sheepish now that the truth was out. Angelique finally noticed that he wasn't giving her his full attention and reached up to tap his arm.

"Hello? Earth to Francis. I'm trying to tell you how much your friends missed you. Are you even listening? What are you looking at?" She spun around. "Oh, it's you," she said coldly, having just only noticed Gilbert standing there. She and Kirkland had never gotten along but that didn't mean she had to approve of his replacement, especially when said replacement was only a temporary but seemed to be having the strangest effect on her friend and favorite client. Francis's writing style was changing. When she had first noticed it and mentioned it to him he had quickly reverted back to his natural style. However, since then, it had been slowly shifting to something that she wasn't sure yet if she liked. Francis still wrote wonderfully but in all the years she had known him, despite all the different people he had been with, his writing style had always been more or less consistent. He changed muses—the sources of his inspiration—but this almost never affected his final product. Even with Kirkland, it was not that Francis had written differently, but that he had written_ better_. At the moment, the changes were barely noticeable but if he kept up as he was critics' tongues would start wagging and the readers would start scratching their heads, wondering why the last quarter of the book sounded so different from the rest of it. So, although Francis's new boy toy—she secretly enjoyed the media label—might have done nothing to directly offend her, she still harbored a slight dislike for him and what he was doing, even though he most likely didn't know he was doing it.

"Yep, just the awesome me," Gilbert responded smoothly to her chilly look. "Just hanging out here. Being awesome."

"Now that Francis is back I expect you both to work extra hard to make up for all the lost time, okay?" Angelique said.

Gilbert grinned. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to keep him working very _hard_," he said.

Francis glared at him over Angelique's shoulder but quickly smiled when she turned back around to face him.

"At least he has a good work ethic," she said.

At that moment they all looked up at the sound of the front door slamming open.

"Francis? Are you home?" said an excited voice.

"Oh, it's Antonio. And right on time," Angelique said happily before running out to greet him, leaving Francis and Gilbert alone in the kitchen.

"You lied," Francis said as soon the door swung shut.

Gilbert smirked. "_You_ assumed."

"I take back my thank you."

"I could care less about your thank you but I'll keep the feeling of your tongue fucking my mouth."

Francis narrowed his eyes. "Enjoy it because that's the last time that will ever happen," he said before he strode out of the kitchen.

"So he says," Gilbert said, the grin on his face nothing less than mischievous.

* * *

"I have a surprise for you," Antonio said the next day in a sing-song voice.

Francis had stopped by the restaurant to give him some documents from Gilbert, who had rushed out the door as soon as the clock had struck 12. He had been halfway out the door when he had asked if Francis could drop the folder he had left on the table off at Antonio's. Before Francis could say no, the door had slammed shut. He had been severely tempted to leave the papers where they were—his small form of revenge for Gilbert tricking him the day before—but he had already been planning to visit Antonio so it wasn't as if he was going out of his way.

Francis now dropped the folder onto Antonio's desk and said, "I'm not sure I can handle any more surprises this week. This is from Gilbert by the way."

Antonio picked up the folder and flipped through the documents inside. "So you're running errands for him now?" he asked amused.

"No," Francis snapped. "I just thought, since I was coming over here anyway, I might as well bring them with me. I'm being nice. Remember, I'm not completely heartless."

Antonio chuckled and slipped the folder into a drawer. "I know you're not. You just pretend to be."

"Just like you pretend to be an oblivious moron?" Francis shot back.

Antonio only smiled in response and settled into his chair. "So, do you want to hear the good news or not?"

Francis sighed and sat down on the edge of Antonio's desk. "Tell me now, before the suspense kills me," he said dryly.

"You know my friend, the artist? He's finally available to work for you. If you end Gilbert's contract tonight, he can fly in from Greece in tomorrow. Isn't that great?"

Francis said nothing. He pushed himself off the desk and went to the wall where Antonio kept his awards and certificates. He could faintly see himself in the large glass case and frowned at his reflection. This news was surprising but what was most shocking was how it made him feel. He should have felt elated, gleeful, even relieved, but, instead, he felt cold and crushed as if Antonio had dropped a bag of bricks on his head.

"You _are_ happy, aren't you Francis?" Antonio asked. "This means no more having to deal with Gilbert. I thought you would have been jumping up and down by now."

Francis turned back around to face Antonio and answered, choosing his words carefully, "It's not as if the thought of being rid of that irritant doesn't fill me with joy but I can't let him go, not now. We finally have a good system set up and I'm writing well enough that, at this rate, the last book will be done by December. To switch now would throw everything off schedule. I need Gilbert until I'm done with the book and then I'll get rid of him." He was not quite sure he could believe the words coming out of his own mouth. How many times had he fantasized about kicking Gilbert and his planet-sized ego to the curb and finally having someone who would work without complaint, be polite, considerate, neat—basically everything Gilbert wasn't. Now, the last thing he wanted was a new muse. Gilbert was his, until he finished the book of course. That was the most important thing: the book, his writing and the awards of course. Gilbert was just another means to help him achieve his much deserved reward and acclaim. At least this was what he told himself.

"Are you sure?" Antonio asked, struggling to keep the smile out of his voice and off his face. "There's no guarantee that I'll be able to get this guy to come back in four and a half months. This could be your only chance to switch."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," Francis said.

"Okay then, I'll let him know. Wow, and I thought I was the one with the surprise."

"Guess you don't know me as well as you thought."

Antonio knew Francis better than he knew himself but he didn't say this and only smiled and said, "So how goes the celibate life? Unless you and Gilbert…"

Francis snorted. "No, we haven't and just because I'm not sleeping with him doesn't mean I'm celibate. I'll have you know that I had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with the most charming woman in Paris—a university student by the name of Camille. I don't think I've seen anyone with lovelier legs. She thought it was wild and romantic—being involved with an older man and all but burst into tears at the airport when I was leaving. She gave me her number and address but they must have fallen out of my bags on the plane. I will miss those legs though."

Antonio shook his head. "Always the heartbreaker you are," he said.

Francis smirked. "And don't forget it."

* * *

In Paris, Francis had slept soundly each night, waking up when he pleased unless he had company. He had hoped that the time off would have been good for him and although he felt refreshed in body, in mind he was still restless and unnerved. He couldn't pinpoint the source of this mental stress but it was slight enough that, at first, he could ignore it and settle back into the daily motions of his life.

The two weeks he had been gone hadn't made Gilbert any less obnoxious or tactless and he still hadn't learned how to cook but, for the first time, Francis viewed these mannerisms, while still highly irritating, as a part of who Gilbert was and he accepted them. Little by little, he was accepting Gilbert and more and more he felt a strange reluctance to finish the book because, when it was done, they would be over and Francis had no more excuses to give Antonio.

His new-found comfort with Gilbert didn't keep them from bickering, however. One night they had a particularly nasty argument that ended with Gilbert storming out of the apartment, yelling expletives over his shoulder.

"That little fuck," Francis hissed after the door had slammed shut. He glanced down at his laptop and saw that in the two hours that he had been sitting there he had written less than a paragraph. When he reread what he had written he found that not only did it make little sense but he had skipped a whole chapter. Angrily, he deleted all the text on the page and then shut down his laptop. He had a terrible headache. He didn't expect Gilbert to be back before midnight so he turned off the lights and went to bed early. He couldn't believe it when he woke up the next morning and saw that the time on the bedside clock was 5:00 a.m.

"Not this again," he groaned, sitting up.

Knowing that there was no point staying in bed he got up and went to find his 'jogging' attire. Before he left, he peeked into Gilbert's room and saw that the bed was empty. Gilbert rarely stayed out past four and Francis couldn't help but feel apprehensive. He hoped that he hadn't gotten into a fight or ended up in jail because he wasn't in the mood to go to the hospital or go downtown to post bail. If Gilbert wasn't back when he returned he would call around, but until then, Francis forced him out of his thoughts and went to the park.

The old woman wasn't surprised to see him. The ducks didn't care.

* * *

"Francis…Francis. Francis. Fran...cis…cah. Francis!"

"What?" Francis yelled finally.

"I'm bored," Gilbert said. He was lying upside down on the couch with one foot hanging over the backrest and the rest of him in danger of sliding off completely.

The clock on the wall read 8:00; they had finished early that evening. Francis had a headache and hadn't been able to write more than two pages before throwing in the towel. He still had a whole week to finish the chapter before Angelique would start harassing him.

"Don't you have a barstool that you could be passed out on now?" Francis asked.

"That place is closed for renovations and everywhere else sucks," Gilbert said.

"What about your business buddy?"

"Visiting him brother. And of course Belle and her brother had to go to Vegas for a week. Fuck my life."

"Well those are my only suggestions. Now shut up. I'm reading."

Francis was actually engaging in his favorite guilty pleasure—reading Elizabeta's blog. Officially, the blog was written by 'theangryfryingpan' but he had known it was her ever since she had posted a scathing entry five years prior about his penchant for occasionally putting his hair in rollers before bed. The only person who had know he did this was his muse at the time, a loud-mouthed Polish man with more thought for horses than literature. Less than a week after he had quit, Antonio had reported seeing him and Elizabeta sitting together at a café. Even then Elizabeta had been head over heels in love with Roderich—probably dreaming every night about an engagement ring that would most likely never come—so it was unlikely that they had been there for a romantic meeting. Francis had had Antonio do some research and they had discovered that his ex-employee and Elizabeta were old friends. The next day the entry had appeared on the blog, the late night comedians had had a field day and Francis now only had rollers put in his hair at the salon. However, as much as he personally disliked her, Francis couldn't deny that Elizabeta had a talent for finding scandalously good gossip; not just about a select group of people either, but everyone—Francis just happened to be one of her favorite targets. Somehow, Antonio had managed to evade her all these years.

The most recent blog entry dealt with the suspiciously hasty marriage of a reality TV star and her boyfriend of barely three months, who had recently filed for divorce from his wife of seven years, with whom he had three children. Theangryfryingpan speculated that one of the reasons for the speedy nuptials was the recent wedding of one of the TV star's sisters and her own recent split from her third boyfriend in two years, who had gone on to marry an Italian model in a lavish ceremony.

'_Looks like someone has a little green-eyed monster. A sex tape might have brought you to fame , hun but perfect ass-sets won't buy you love,' _theangryfryingpan said and Francis could practically hear Elizabeta's voice, dripping with sarcasm. She gave the marriage two and a half months. Her predictions were always scarily accurate. The entry had only been posted an hour before but there were already over a thousand comments. From time to time, Francis would even leave one, anonymously of course.

He looked up at the sound of a shout followed by a loud thud and saw that Gilbert was no longer on the couch and was now lying in a heap on the floor.

"I'm so fucking bored," Gilbert said into the carpet.

Francis decided to show him some pity. Sighing, he powered down his laptop and stood up.

"Get off my floor. We're going out to eat," he said.

Gilbert lifted his head up from the carpet. "Really? Where? Antonio's?"

"No, it's a surprise."

"Is this like a date or something?" Gilbert asked grinning as he got to his feet.

Francis rolled his eyes. "Sure, if you want it to be," he said.

"I wish I had known earlier. I would have brought you a present," Gilbert said.

"Another bottle of wine?" Francis said as they stepped into the hallway.

"Depends on what you're offering this time—ouch! What was that for?" Gilbert whined, rubbing his arm.

"Shut up."

.

.

.

"I know this place," Gilbert said when they arrived at the restaurant. "I've never been here before though. Their prices are too damn high."

"It's the price of quality," Francis said, stepping out of the car.

"Here you go on about 'quality' again."

"Do you want to go back to the apartment?"

Gilbert ignored the threat. "So how are we getting in? This place always has at least a three week waiting period for a reservation."

"Maybe for people like you," Francis said smugly. "I'm acquainted with owner."

"Which means you fucked him, right?"

Francis opened his mouth to fire back a snappy retort when something caught his eye.

"Odd," he said. "It's Friday night and the parking lot is deserted. Where is everyone?"

"Are you sure that they're even open?" Gilbert asked.

"All the lights are on. Let's go inside."

They found that the front doors were unlocked and the large fountain that graced the middle of the waiting area flowing. Behind a small desk stood a young man who frowned when he saw Francis and Gilbert.

"Excuse me sirs, but we're closed for tonight," he said in a fake British accent. Francis had lived with Arthur for almost three years and knew when someone was trying—and failing—to sound more sophisticated than they actually were. Personally, he found nothing appealing about the accent.

"Then why does it look like you're open?" Gilbert asked.

"The whole restaurant has been booked for a private event and, unless you have invitations, I must ask you to leave."

"No one tells me to lea—" Gilbert began.

Francis cut him off. "I'm a personal friend of the owner," he said calmly. "Is he here?"

"I'm sure you are," the man said with a slight sneer, "and no, he is not. Now you must leave at once."

"Is there, like, a problem over here? Ryan, why are you speaking in that weird accent?" said a voice. They all turned to see a finely dressed man with short light blond hair and striking green eyes walking towards them. "Omg, Francis is that you?"

"Nice to see you again, Feliks," Francis said. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the stuck up man had gone pale. "Seen Elizabeta lately?"

Feliks Łukasiewicz, the owner of the restaurant—the world famous Pink Pony—tossed his blond hair and laughed. "You'll, like, never forgive me for that, will you Francis? I seriously had no clue Lizzy had it out for you."

"She still does."

"Wait, are you two talking about Elizabeta Hédeváry? Miss Evil Incarnate?" Gilbert asked, butting into the conversation.

Feliks frowned at him. "I totally don't know who you are."

"You should. Gilbert Beilschmidt."

"The name doesn't ring a bell. Are you like a German chocolate maker or something?"

"He's working for me actually," Francis said.

"Whoa, Really? What happened to Arthur?" Feliks asked.

Gilbert scowled and wondered if everyone in the world knew goddamn Arthur Kirkland.

"He quit," Francis said shortly.

"Bummer. And I was going to ask him how he, like, grew his eyebrows so big," Feliks said. He turned back to Gilbert. "Ya know, I used to work for Francis too. You should totally watch out."

Gilbert shot Francis a look but Francis was too busy examining the intricate floor designs to notice.

Feliks continued, "We had this, like, huge falling out back then but we're BFFs now but not really because Toris is my BFF but if I had to choose a second one it would be Francis. He even helped me jumpstart my business. Too bad he'll never forgive me for 'selling him out' to Lizzy. Omg Francis, do you still wear those hair—"

"So what's going on here tonight?" Francis asked quickly. "Who in the world has enough money to rent this whole place out?"

"You remember Toris's ex-boss?"

"Ex? Toris quit?"

"Well maybe if you, like, visited more than once a year you would know that Toris quit six months ago," Feliks said. "He works as the manager here now. Can you believe it? I thought he would never leave that place."

"Same," Francis said. "But Braginski let him go that easily?"

"No way. Toris had to call all these people and file a bunch of annoying paperwork before he could finally escape but Braginski is still after him. He comes by here all the time, always asking for Toris like a major creep and even followed Toris home a bunch of times. The guy just doesn't get the message. So yeah, anyway, he comes in here yesterday, acting like a total serial killer of course, and says that he wants to book the whole restaurant for his older sister's bachelorette party tonight. At first I was like, 'hell to the no' because first, he's insane and scary as fuck and second, I have people who've been waiting for a month just to get a table in here. Then he told me what he was willing to pay and even when the customer is a certified Mr. Hyde there's a certain amount that you just can't say no to. So as much as it made me feel totally gross, I said yes. The only good thing about all of this is that he won't actually be here cause it's, like, you know, a bachelorette party. Toris still bets he shows up though, like Freddy Krueger on Halloween."

"That's actually really frightening," Francis said. "Has Toris ever considered a restraining order?"

Feliks flipped his hair again. "I told him to get one but he said it was a waste of time and money and probably wouldn't do anything. Sometimes I don't know what's wrong with him. If he had one then I would have had a legal reason to say no to Braginski but now we have to deal with him and the rest of his cuh-razy family."

"I'm guessing that we can't stay then," Francis said.

"Omg, of course you can," Feliks said happily. "I'll put you in one of the back tables. How could I saw no to my favorite former boss? I almost miss calling you that, boss."

Gilbert felt his eye twitch when Feliks said the title. He viewed 'boss' as his own personal address for Francis. It sounded completely wrong to hear someone else say it.

"Really? That's great," Francis said.

"It's no problem. Hey Ryan, two menus," Feliks said to the man behind the desk.

"My name is Josh, sir," the man said weakly.

"Omg, why do you keep talking like that? Stop it, it's so weird," Feliks said before reaching into the desk and taking the menus himself. "You two can follow me."

The Pink Pony was not an exceptionally large restaurant—it could hold up to 50 people max—but it made up for this with its sheer elegance. The gold bordered ceiling, which had been brilliantly painted to depict various mythological creatures—the largest and most prominent being the Pegasus—was held up by four ionic style white marble pillars. According to Feliks, the light pink and gold glazed floor tiling had been designed in Tuscany. Pale silk curtains had been strewn across the windows and added an air of simplicity and romanticism to the setting. Tonight, a large banquet table stood in the middle of the restaurant. It had been decorated with sunflowers and long white unlit candles in golden tapers, which were positioned at both ends as well as at the center of the table. Name cards had been placed in front of each chair.

"I still can't believe Arthur's gone. He was like your best," Feliks said as he led them to the back. "And I can't believe I haven't read about it on Lizzy's blog. Oh shit, you're not supposed to know that."

"Thanks to you, I've known about her blog for years," Francis said. "And yes, it is strange that she hasn't mentioned it yet, especially since she found out weeks ago." He had expected a scorching entry following the award nominations but when he had checked the blog there had only been a small snarky post about his wardrobe that night. It wasn't like Elizabeta to let such a story slip through her fingers and he wondered if she was planning something else.

"So how did it happen? Did Kirkland just up and leave? Did he throw things? Remember how I threw that brush at your head? It all seems so silly and stupid now. Did he cry? He always seemed like the type to cry," Feliks said nonchalantly, unaware of the angry glare Gilbert was directing at him.

"I would rather not talk about Arthur right now," Francis quietly, but firmly. "He's not my favorite subject at the moment."

"Oh I totally understand. I remember it took us months to finally talk to each other again but all's well that ends well, I guess."

A door on the side of the restaurant opened and out of it hurried a man in a dark suit; he looked nervous and frantic as he approached them.

"Feliks, they'll be here any second," he said quickly. "Oh, hi Francis, what are you doing here? Who's this? Where's Arthur? Did you two have another fight?" The questions all fell out of his mouth in a jumbled, rapid stream.

"He and Kirkland broke up, Toris," Feliks said before Francis could answer. "This is his new guy, Gilbert. He's not a German chocolate maker by the way. I'm putting them in one of the back tables."

"Oh, okay, good," Toris said distractedly. He kept glancing back and forth between them and the front of the restaurant. "Look, I would stay and chat but I'm sure Feliks has already told you who's coming tonight and they'll be here soon and I have to meet them at the front. Enjoy your meal!" He hurried off, nearly bumping into one of the tables.

"I swear he's on the verge of a mental breakdown," Feliks said. "I would have had him stay home tonight but Braginski specifically asked that he be working. Damn it."

Feliks led them to a small table tucked around a corner and shielded by a long drapery so they were hidden from site.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," he said, setting the menu's down on the table. "I have to make sure Toris's head hasn't exploded yet. Do you want your usual Francis?"

"Of course," Francis said. "And take your time, we're in no hurry."

"Feliks! They're here! They're here!" called Toris, his voice verging on hysteria.

Feliks sighed, "Gosh, I just know this night is going to, like, end up flipping insane." He pushed the curtain aside and walked quickly back to the front.

"If I had known it was going to be like this, I would have just gone to Antonio's," Francis said.

"Who's this Braginski guy anyway?" Gilbert asked.

"You must be living under a rock if you don't know."

"Stop being a snot and just tell me."

Francis scowled at him and said, "He's the owner of one of the world's largest oil and gas companies. The headquarters are in Moscow but he has a building here in the city as well so he's around often."

"What makes him such a freak?"

"He's not the most…pleasant person to work for, or so I've heard. There are rumors that he has his own underground criminal organization—a post Cold War KGB—that don't hesitate to get rid of people causing them problems or getting in their way."

Gilbert gave a low whistle. "Fuck," he said. "And your buddy was working for him?"

"He was actually Braginski's personal secretary, believe it or not. I cannot imagine what he had to go through. He was with him for almost six years and is somehow still sane, for the most part," Francis said.

"This guy sounds majorly fucked up," Gilbert said.

"I have heard that he's more mentally unstable than actually malicious but I don't feel personally obligated to find out if this is true. Enough about Braginski though, what do you want?"

"Are you paying?"

Francis rolled his eyes. "Obviously. I asked you here, didn't I?"

Gilbert pretended to blush. "And it was so kind of you to do so," he said. He flipped open his menu and began scanning the appetizers. "By the way, I was just wondering if everyone in this city has worked for you."

Francis held back a groan; he had been expecting a question like this.

Gilbert continued, "Just how many people have had the honor of calling you 'boss'?"

"Why does that suddenly matter?" Francis asked.

"It doesn't," Gilbert said, his face still hidden by the menu, "I was just curious…boss. And did you take Kirkland everywhere with you because everyone seems to know him so well."

"We were together for almost three years, what do you expect? What's with all the questions?"

"I already told you, I was just curious," Gilbert said evenly. "I'm just beginning to think that I have pretty big shoes to fill considering how amazing Kirkland seemed to be."

"Gilbert…"

Gilbert finally set down his menu and Francis saw that his eyes were dark.

"I can't decide what I want," he said. "Order for me, I'm going to the bathroom."

He stood up and pushed past the curtains before Francis could stop him.

"What was that all about?" Francis said to himself.

.

.

.

Gilbert glared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, ignoring the scalding water than flowed over his hands. He didn't understand why he had suddenly gotten upset but he did know that he was tired of hearing: "What happened to Arthur?" followed by a look of sympathy whenever he introduced himself. Once more Elizabeta had fucked him over. If she had posted about Francis and Arthur's break-up on her stupid secret blog then everyone would know that they were officially over and the annoying questions would stop. He couldn't help but think about what she had told him on the night of the award nominations, although he still refused to accept anything that came out of that woman's mouth. He had known what he was getting into when he signed up for the job. He had read the contract. He was temporary and once he had paid off his debt he and Francis would be done. It seemed like such a simple, straightforward arraignment, which was why he was confused about the spike of anger and jealousy he had felt when Feliks had casually told him that he too had worked for Francis. For some reason, the thought of just being another person for Francis to use and then let go of made him feel ill, which made no sense at all. The only thing he was supposed to feel was glee whenever he learned he had paid off another part of his debt. He was there for the money and nothing else. The most important thing was the bar, as well as proving to his grandfather and brother that he wasn't a certified idiot and failure.

Gilbert looked down at his hands and saw that they were bright red and pruning. He shut off the water and dried his hands on the Egyptian cotton towels. Just as he stepped out of the bathroom, the door to the women's bathroom opened and a beautiful woman with platinum blond hair came out, her dark blue eyes widening when she saw him.

Gilbert gave her his best smile and said, "This must be my lucky day. I don't normally meet such lovely women by the bath—" Before he could finish, the woman had grabbed him by his neck and slammed him against the wall.

"Who the hell are you?" she snarled.

Gilbert struggled to understand what was happening. "I-I'm—"

"Shut up!" the woman hissed. "I don't want to hear your voice. Toris! Toris! Get over here now! Hurry!"

"I'm here Natalya!" Toris said as he came around the corner. He gasped when he saw Gilbert against the wall and Natalya glaring daggers at him. "What's going on here?"

Natalya turned to face him, her eyes fiery. "Who is this?" she asked. "Does he work for you?"

"N-no, he's a customer! He's here with a friend of mine!" Toris said.

Natalya's frown deepened and he almost flinched from the angry aura radiating from her.

"You promised my brother that there would be no one else here tonight," she said slowly but venomously. "You gave him your word and now you've betrayed him."

"I-it's not like that! I h-had no clue that they would be here tonight. It was c-completely u-unexpected!" Toris said quickly.

"Then why are they still here? You should have sent them away immediately."

"I-I would have but, like I said, one of them is an old friend and benefactor. I couldn't just send him away. Can you understand that?"

"No, I cannot," Natalya said. "And neither will my brother when I tell him. I will call him now."

Toris paled. "P-Please Natalya, t-that's not n-necessary. You w-won't even notice t-them. I swear. They're j-just h-here for a quick meal. T-There's n-no reason to call I-Ivan."

"You lied to my brother and now you want me to lie to him as well?" Natalya said, her voice low and dangerous.

"No! Of course not! I-I will tell him myself, afterwards. B-But right now we're all here for your sister. N-No need for her night to be interrupted, right? Feliks promised your brother that he would do everything to make her happy and that's what we're going to do. I promise to let nothing ruin her party."

Natalya nodded towards Gilbert, who had been uncharacteristically silent during the whole conversation, mostly because he was struggling just to breathe. "So what about him?" she asked. "And the other one, your friend?"

"Feliks purposely gave them tables in the back so they wouldn't disturb you. You'll never have to see them, I promise."

Natalya looked thoughtful for a few seconds then she suddenly released her grip on Gilbert, who slid down to the floor, gasping for air.

"If I see either of them again, I will call my brother. Is that clear Toris?" she said. "I'm only doing this for my sister because when she is happy, my brother is happy. If either of them is angry, I will be angry, understand?"

Toris nodded, relief spreading through his body. "Yes Natalya."

She brushed past him without another word. When she was gone, Toris leaned down to help Gilbert off the floor.

"I'm _so_ sorry about that," he said. "Natalya is not the most social person. She can be really sweet though."

Gilbert looked at him like he was crazy. "Ok, sure but I think she was about three seconds away from ripping out my windpipe."

Toris shook his head. "You just surprised her; that was her natural reflex."

Now Gilbert was sure that he was crazy. "I'm going back to my table now," he said.

"If I can't make it, I'll ask Feliks if he can get your orders," Toris said before heading back to the party.

Francis was casually flipping through the menu when Gilbert got back to the table. He looked up as Gilbert sat down.

"Where have you been? I heard yelling," he said.

"I just met a beautiful woman, but I think she's crazy," Gilbert said.

Francis smirked. "Most of them are. Anyway, while you were gone, I picked out a few things you might like. I wasn't sure if you were allergic to anything so some of them have peanuts. I know you're not picky so I took everything into consideration. Honestly, I should just order you everything. Ha, I'm not that nice though."

Gilbert was only half listening to Francis. He was watching him as he spoke, suddenly noticing little things that he had overlooked before, such as, when he smiled, the corners of his eye crinkled slightly; he had a habit of touching his ear or playing with a loose curl of hair when he was nervous or confused; across his nose was a light smattering of pale freckles that were only noticeable if someone looked very closely; his eyes were more violet than blue; he was both pretty and handsome with grace that didn't detract from his masculinity. Gilbert didn't know why these features stood out to him at that moment but he saw them and couldn't look away. Francis finally noticed he was staring.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his eyebrows knitting together, which they did whenever he was concerned about something. "First you walk out on me and now you look like you just found out a big secret and don't know how to handle it. What's up?"

Gilbert blinked and tried not to blush. "Uh, nothing. Just thinking about that crazy bitch. Tell me again what you picked."

.

.

.

Natalya Arlovskaya was unhappy. This was a common emotion for her, but at that particular moment, she felt especially displeased. Her brother's unrelenting infatuation with his former secretary was the only reason he had chosen this venue for their sister's bachelorette party. Why such an occasion was even necessary—a bachelorette party—Natalya didn't know. She glanced around the table slowly, frowning at the mindless girls who her sister was silly enough to consider friends as they giggled loudly and picked at their food—all on some diet or the other— and talked about the hundreds of thousands of dollars they had wasted on clothes and vacations. If Natalya ever married—and there was only one man on earth she desired enough to wed—a bachelorette party would be the first thing she would say that she didn't need. The only reason she was there that night was because her brother had pleaded with her to attend and she could never resist Ivan anything, especially when he begged. Now, not only did she have to deal with ten irritating women, but there was also the issue of the man she had encountered by the restroom. Toris had promised that neither he nor his companion would disturb the party but she didn't trust Toris's judgment; he had already proven himself a fool by quitting a job that was coveted by countless people across the world, herself included. Natalya felt a spike of anger as she remembered how casually and inappropriately the man had spoken to her. He was a troublemaker, no doubt, and she would rip out every strand of that white hair of his if he even dared look at her again or do anything to ruin the night.

"Natalya! Nats!" said a shrill voice in her ear.

Natalya suppressed the urge to scream. She had already said multiple times that she disliked being calls 'Nats'. She was a person, not a bug, and they should refer to her by her given name. She turned, glaring, to the woman who had called her.

The woman paled slightly when those dark eyes focused on her but then she put on her best smiled and said, "The girls and I have been talking and we've realized that there are no strippers at this party. You can't have a bachelorette party without male strippers."

"I don't know the types of parties you attend but there will be no strippers at this one," Natalya said firmly.

The woman dared to speak up again. "But we're bored and there's nothing to do here. Katyusha wants them too."

Natalya glanced at her sister, who was shifting nervously in her chair. "Is this true? You want male strippers here?" she asked bluntly.

Katyusha's cheeks reddened. "Well, I, it was just a suggestion and I thought, perhaps, maybe, it would be, uh, nice to have them," she said softly.

"Our brother would never approve," Natalya said. "For you to even suggest it is ridiculous."

Katyusha blushed even harder. "I was, uh, thinking that we wouldn't tell him."

"You want me to lie?" Natalya asked surprised. Toris asking her to lie was one thing, but now her sister? She had a strange feeling that this night was going to end in brilliant chaos and who was she to stop that?

Tears appeared in the corners of Katyusha's eyes. "I-I know it sounds terrible and I hate doing it but you know how Ivan would get if he knew. It's just a little bit of fun."

"Yeah Nats, a bit of fun," the woman from before said.

Natalya gave her her deadliest look and the woman sunk back into her seat.

"And who is going to pay for this entertainment?" she asked.

"I'll take care of it," another woman said from down the table. "My father just added more money to my bank account. I'm set for the next six weeks."

"Do, do you have a place in mind?" Katyusha asked shyly.

The woman nodded and pulled out her cellphone. "My cousin got married last week and her bachelorette party was ah-mazing. She gave me the number for the place she used. I'll call them now."

But when the woman dialed the number, she was informed that all the services were booked for the night and would not be available for at least 48 hours. An offering of more money was only able to bring that down to 24 hours.

"Well that was a dead end," the woman said as she dropped the phone into her purse. "And I don't know anywhere else."

None of the other women knew of any such establishments either.

Katyusha visibly deflated in her seat. "And, and I was really looking forward to them," she said.

Natalya guessed that peer pressure was more the reason for her eagerness but said nothing. Her sister was getting married and was going to be 30 in a few months. It was about time that she started standing up for herself and stop crying. Unfortunately, when her sister was upset, her brother was as well and Natalya hated when her brother was upset.

"I think I know where you can find your entertainment and for free too," she said.

"Really Natalya? You do?" Katyusha asked, sitting up in her seat.

Natalya nodded and said, "And the best part is that they're already here."

.

.

.

Francis knew something was wrong immediately when both Toris and Feliks came around the corner, although the looks on their faces would have been enough to let someone know that they were about to receive some very bad news.

"We need your help," Toris said, looking at the floor.

"More like your bodies," Feliks said.

Francis stared at him.

"Are you proposing a foursome?" Gilbert asked. The beer bottle in front of him was only half empty so alcohol could not be blamed for the stupidity of his question.

"What? Like, no way," Feliks said. "_We_ don't want your bodies, the girls do."

Francis narrowed his eyes. "What girls?"

"The ones here for the bachelorette party," Toris said quietly. "They've…they've requested that you…play the part of male strippers."

Francis's jaw dropped. Even Gilbert looked shocked.

"You're kidding, right?" Francis asked even though he could see the seriousness on their faces.

"I'm so sorry Francis," Toris said.

"Isn't there anything you can do?" Francis asked, beginning to feel irritated.

"When Ivan paid he said explicitly that anything his sister wanted she was to be given and if he found out that she was unhappy, it would make him unhappy," Toris said.

"Which basically means he'll torture us, kills us and then burn down the restaurant with our bodies inside," Feliks said.

Francis stood up from the table. "This is absurd," he said. "I'm going to go talk to these people."

Toris paled. "That's not a good idea. You don't want to make Natalya angry."

"You might want to listen to him Francis," Gilbert said. "That girl is scary."

"I don't care if she's the grim reaper. I don't strip for just anyone." Francis pushed past Toris and Feliks and strode towards the center of the restaurant. They both followed him with Gilbert bringing up the rear.

A collective giggle rose up from the table when the women saw him. One even whistled. A woman with long blond hair stood up from the table and walked towards him slowly. He assumed this was Natalya.

"They've been waiting for you," she said. "You still need get dressed though."

"More like undressed!" one woman yelled. There was more giggling.

"Actually, I just came out here to tell you that neither I nor my companion will be taking our clothes off for you ladies tonight. Find yourselves some professionals," Francis said.

"We aren't asking for your services. We're demanding them. You have no choice in this matter," Natalya said.

Francis drew himself up to full height. "Do you know who I am?" he asked.

Natalya didn't even blink. "No and I don't care. Now, if you don't do everything my sister asks, I will have you castrated."

"Oh Natalya, don't be so mean!" A woman with the largest breasts Francis had ever seen stood up from the table. As she walked over to them, _everything_ bounced and he found that he couldn't tear his eyes away.

"Hello, I'm Katyusha Braginski and I'm the one getting married. I'm sure neither of you were expecting this and I'm so sorry for putting you in such a position but my friends and I would very much enjoy having you, well, entertain us," she said sweetly. "Please?"

"I'm in," Gilbert said.

"Wait, so what do we get out of this?" Francis asked, tearing his eyes away from Katyusha's chest to face Natalya.

"You get to stay a man," she said. She nodded at Toris and Feliks. "And these two idiots won't have their restaurant burned down."

"I knew it," Feliks whispered.

Francis glanced at Gilbert. He was still staring at Katyusha. Francis reached over to pinch his arm.

"What was that for?" Gilbert whined, rubbing his arm for the second time that night.

"What's your decision?" Francis asked.

"I already said that I'm in. This actually sounds like fun."

"Yes, fun," Francis said dryly. He turned back to Natalya. "Fine, we'll do it."

"Good," she said unsmilingly. She went over the table and came back with a pile of clothes in her arms. "These are your costumes." She shoved them at Francis. "Go change."

The 'costumes' turned out to be nothing more than a black apron, a shirt collar and white cuffs.

"Whoa, you guys are, like, the sexiest waiters I've ever seen," Feliks said snickering when they stepped out of the bathroom.

"Why can't you two be the ones doing this?" Francis hissed, struggling to cover his exposed backside. He didn't normally have a problem with nudity but only when it was on his terms and he wasn't being threatened.

"They said we weren't, like, hot enough," Feliks said. "Which is totally untrue. I think you're hot Toris."

"Uh, thanks Feliks," Toris said before he turned to Francis. "I'm really sorry for this again. The party is only supposed to go until 11 so if you can just last a few hours that would be great."

"A few hours? I can go all night long," Gilbert said grinning.

Francis was tempted to hit him. Instead he sighed and said, "Let's just get this over with."

They were welcomed back at the table with hoots and whistles.

Gilbert rubbed his hands together. "So who's first?" he asked.

Nine hands shot into the air. Natalya stood off to the side, watching the events with a bored look. Katyusha squirmed in her seat, her face bright red.

"I'll call the bride-to-be," Francis said.

"That's not fair!" Gilbert protested.

"As if I care. Don't forget, you still work for me. Now go make one of these other ladies happy," Francis said before walking off.

"Nice ass," Gilbert called after him.

Francis turned around and winked. Gilbert grinned and then strolled over to where Natalya was standing.

"I think I've found my first customer," he said.

She gave him a blank look. "I would keep moving if I were you," she said.

"No need to be so cold. Eventually everyone says yes to the awesome me."

"You have three seconds to walk away."

"I love when they play hard to get."

"Three…two…one. Times up."

Natalya reached down to grab Gilbert through the apron. He grunted as her hand squeezed him painfully.

"I told you to keep moving," she hissed. Her grip tightened and Gilbert bit his lip so as not to cry out. "So keep moving or I will rip off your testicles and shove them down your esophagus. Are we clear? I said, _are we clear_?"

Gilbert whimpered and nodded quickly.

"Good," Natalya said. She released him and he nearly fell backwards. "Get out of my sight."

"What happened to you?" Francis asked when Gilbert walked past him, his face bright red. Francis was currently straddling the blushing bride-to-be and only barely resisting grabbing her ample chest.

"Don't ask," Gilbert said weakly before he hobbled down the table.

"Uh, sure," Francis said. He then turned to the woman in front of him and asked in his most seductive voice, "So tell me, what's the name of your darling fiancée?"

"E-Eduard," she squeaked.

"Well, tonight I want you to forget all about Eduard. It's just you—" he reached up to touch her lips with his index finger "—and me." He brought the finger to his mouth and kissed it. With his other hand he brushed his thumb against the underside of her breasts and she shivered beneath him. "And I think we're going to have a fun time."

"I-I had n-no clue it was going to be like this."

Francis smirked. "None of us ever do," he said.

At that moment Gilbert jumped up onto the table.

"I just can't choose which of you ladies to attend to first," he said. "I think I'll let you decide amongst yourselves." He spread out his arms and yelled, "Who wants me?"

"I do!" one woman shrieked.

"No, me!"

"I saw him first!"

"Pick me! Pick me!"

"I'll give you $100 and take you home with me!"

"I'll give you $200 and take you home with me!"

"$500!"

"$1000!"

Gilbert stood there grinning as the woman called out their rising offers.

"$5000! I have a twin!"

"$6000 and I'll make you breakfast in bed!"

"$10,000 and I've been told that I give the best blowjobs this side of Lake Michigan!"

Francis almost burst out laughing. Gilbert knew how to sell himself, that was for sure, but he hoped that these women knew that he was the only one Gilbert would be going home with that night.

"Wow, your offers are all very tempting but I just can't make up my mind and this apron is getting awfully hot," Gilbert said, teasing the tie at the back of the apron.

"$20,000 and you can have my dad's Mercedes!"

"What's going on in here?"

Everything suddenly went quiet and they all turned to see a tall man in a long dark coat standing at the front of the room. He was accompanied by five muscular men, all similarly dressed. The man who had spoken had a smile on his face but seemed anything but pleased.

"I hate my life," Toris moaned from the corner.

"I-Ivan!" Katyusha gasped. She rocketed out of her seat, sending Francis to the floor. "O-Oh no! This, this isn't what it looks like!"

"I know exactly what this is my dear sister," Ivan Braginski said. "And I'm very disappointed that you would engage in such lewd activities. You, on the table, get down. Now."

Gilbert jumped down to the floor and scrambled to stand next to Francis.

"I came here expecting to find my sisters and their friends enjoying a quiet dinner and I am very upset with what I've just witnessed," Ivan continued. "Where is Natalya?"

"I'm here, brother," Natalya said, stepping to the front of the table. Her voice was suddenly sweet and loving.

"It was your job to make sure that nothing got out of hand," Ivan said.

"Oh, I did my best but they all wanted this and I'm only one person," she said. "You know I would never want to let you down but once it started I couldn't stop it."

"It's not Natalya's fault," Katyusha said. She was on the verge of tears. "It, it was my suggestion. I, I thought it would be…fun. P-Please don't be angry Ivan."

"I'm not angry," Ivan said, still smiling. "And I know neither of you is to blame."

Natalya rushed up to him and he flinched as she reached out to grab his hand.

"Thank you, my darling brother. You are too kind," she said.

"T-Thank you Natalya, but something still needs to be done about this," Ivan said. He pointed to Francis and Gilbert. "Kill those two."

Francis wondered if he had heard right. Next to him he heard Gilbert whimper. The men who had come with Ivan began walking towards them.

"No! Please don't hurt them Ivan!" Katyusha said, her eyes bright with tears. "Please!"

"They disrespected you Katyusha and I will have them punished for it."

"No! It wasn't their fault! Please just let them go! Please!"

Toris stepped forward. "No one is going to lay a hand on Francis or Gilbert," he said loudly and firmly. There was a stark contrast between his previous look of terror and the angry glare he wore now.

"I, like, totally second what he said," Feliks said. "But I'm still going to stand back here."

Ivan smiled wider. "You're so cute when you're all determined like that Toris. Now step aside."

"No," Toris said. "This is Feliks's restaurant and you have no right to come in here and threaten our customers."

"Actually, until 11, this is my restaurant," Ivan said.

"You want your money back? You can have it. Just leave us alone."

"I like this side of you Toris. It's a shame you didn't show it more when you were working for me."

"I regret every day that I worked for you, but I'll come back if you promise not to hurt my friends."

Feliks gasped. "Omg Toris, what are you saying? Are you serious?"

Natalya looked furious. Ivan was visibly delighted.

"Really? You'll come back and be my secretary?" he asked gleefully.

"Only on the weekends and only if you promise not to hurt Francis or Gilbert."

"Toris, this is completely insane," Feliks said.

"I'm doing what I have to," Toris replied.

"I won't have my men kill your friends if you work for me three days a week plus weekends," Ivan said.

"Two days a week plus weekends and you've got a deal."

"Deal," Ivan said. He turned to his men. "Now escort these two outside."

"You didn't have to do that Toris," Francis said, although the relief in his voice was clear.

Toris gave him a small smile. "Actually, I did. If you can ever forgive me for what happened tonight I will be forever grateful," he said.

"I already have," Francis said. "I swear I'm dedicating my next book to you."

Toris laughed. "Thank you."

"We will show you out," grunted one of Ivan's men.

Francis gave him a wary look.

"Don't worry," Toris said reassuringly. "If there's one thing I know about Ivan is that he keeps his promises." He leaned in to whisper in Francis's ear. "But please call me tomorrow morning. I won't be able to relax until you do."

The man nudged Francis and Gilbert towards the door.

"I will definitely not be telling Lizzy about this Francis," Feliks said behind them.

They walked past Natalya who gave them a mocking scowl and Katyusha who gave them a teary smile. Ivan didn't even look at them.

"Wait, what about our clothes?" Gilbert asked.

"Shut up," Francis hissed. "We'll get them tomorrow." He smiled up at the man walking behind him. "Would you be kind enough to call us a car?"

"Of course," the man said. He turned to one of his associates. "Call a car for these two."

The other man pulled out his cellphone and promptly called for a taxi.

"Thank you very much," Francis said as they stepped outside. "You can go now. We'll just wait here."

One of the men moved to stand by the door of the restaurant. The others formed a tight circle around him and Gilbert.

"Although we've been asked not to kill you, we've been instructed by Mr. Braginski to give you his gratitude," one of the men said.

"Fuck," Gilbert whispered.

"Is, is this really necessary?" Francis asked quickly.

"Yes."

Someone cracked their knuckles.

"And there's nothing we can do to persuade you not to do this?"

"No."

"O-Okay," Francis said. "Please just not my face."

* * *

Francis winced as he set the icepack on his nose. Next to him, Gilbert was spitting into a cup, still trying to clear the blood from his mouth.

"Can't you do that in the bathroom?" Francis asked.

"No."

Francis sighed and leaned back against the couch. It was miracle that they had made it back to his apartment, although his reputation was most likely forever ruined. They had had to walk through a lobby full of people bruised and bloody, wearing only their 'costumes'. Elizabeta was going to be very happy in the morning.

"How's your finger?" he asked.

"I think it's broken," Gilbert muttered.

"I told you not to fight back."

"Just don't talk to me. I want to forget that this fucking night ever happened."

Francis nodded then regretted doing so as pain shot through his neck.

"I can't believe the one night I try and do something nice, I get the shit beaten out of me," he said.

"I appreciate the gesture," Gilbert said, "but next time, let's just go to Antonio's."

"Fine by me. Do you think I'm going to need stitches on my forehead?"

Gilbert leaned over, wincing, to examining the cut. It was crusted with dried blood but didn't look like anything a Band-Aid wouldn't fix.

"Nope, you'll be fine. Want me to help you take care of it?"

"If you would be so kind."

After the cut had been cleaned and disinfected, Gilbert smacked a Band-Aid on it—causing Francis to groan in pain—and then leaned in to place a kiss on the spot.

"There. Feel better?" he asked.

Francis gestured that he should come closer and then he kissed him on the mouth, gentle enough so that neither of them felt discomfort from their injuries.

"I do now," Francis said. "Now help me to bed."

"Is that an invitation?" Gilbert asked, pulling him to his feet.

"Are you serious? 95% of my body is covered in bruises. I can barely lift my head. And you have a broken finger."

"I'll take a rain check then."

Francis smirked as they limped slowly down the hallway together. "You do that."

* * *

**A/N:** I think next chapter should make a lot of people happy ;3 Also, I've finally decided to have the setting of this fic be Chicago. It's a big, metropolitan city that's not NYC. Yay! :D The Lake Michigan comment should make more sense now, lol.

-with love

dancer


End file.
